Shadows of Light
by Keeper of Tomes
Summary: We cast our own shadows, and make our own worlds. Its what you do with them that counts. Shall your shadow cry...or dance? Shall you create a hell...or a heaven? Two men, one woman, faced with a decision. First DA/P fic
1. After the battle

The smell of death hung low in the air, a sweet, rotting, stench of blood and gristle.

After the battles...the world was made of red.

He was extremely quiet.

He didn't say a word. Just stared into the sky and pondered what had just happened. He gripped his blade in one hand and something else in the other. Something small...something blue. It glinted purple, however, in the dying red sun. Upon closer inspection, you would see what it was.

A necklace.

Blue crystal dangling on the fraying thread.

He clutched it in one sweaty hand and, every so often, glanced at it with crimson eyes. His eyebrows turned downwards, making him look older than he actually was. He felt old. He felt divided.

Parts of him started chipping away, bit by bit by bit. Falling to the ground. Splintering.

But his hands were full.

He held his blade. And he held her necklace. He glanced at both, then sheathed his sword and tucked the necklace away. For some reason, he decided to keep it.

He felt dismembered. Disembodied. Split.

The fading sunlight caused the shadows to lengthen. They stretched out, some of them forming into people-like shapes. Humans.

And they moved. Moved with the bloody red orb that hung low in the sky.

He walked through them, breaking them like they were butter.

And he headed for home.


	2. I don't know you anymore

_I don't know you anymore..._

"Where is she?"

The bartender nodded towards the back of the pub, shaking his head sadly. The young man glanced at the clock; four thirty four in the morning. This was the last place he'd have looked, if it hadn't been for a few helpful neighbors. And she was the last person he would have expected to hear of.

Men at this hour were either snoring with their faces squished against the tables, or were muttering snatches of dark and sleazy songs to themselves. And then there was...her. He advanced quietly. He knew better than to startle the girl.

No, not girl.

Woman...

But now was not the time for being subtle. He rapped his knuckles against the wooden table.

She lifted her head with a start and a mumble.

"Whazzup?" Her eyes were bloodshot and tired. He wanted to smack her and hug her, all at once. She smelled like cheap booze and even cheaper perfume. And she still wore her old uniform.

"Hey..." He reached out, hand trembling. "Come. I'll take you home."

"Humm..." Her head thudded to the table. He rolled his eyes and threw a few bills onto the table. Wrenching her hand from the cup, he lifted her, bridal style, and carried her towards the door.

"Money?" The bartender eyed him suspiciously, and even more so at the slim form in his arms.

"On the table..."

And he took her out the door, into the night.

OOO

A/N: Yes, I snatched a tad from Dragon Faere and from Ambrel, but...

Some notes.

One: The first one was a...prologue of sorts. This is where the story actually begins.

Two: It will eventually become my own. The idea swam around, marinating in my head for a while, until a plot formulated.

Three: Thank you to both Dragon Faere and Ambrel for your...assistance. /evil laugh\\


	3. Waking into darkness

_Waking into darkness_

He doesn't have time for this, and he knows it. But he feels obligated. His hand inches towards hers, and eventually, they touch. The moonlight hits her face in such a way that she turns almost...blue. Her necklace glitters like still water, molded into a diamond.

She was like a sister to him.

And he's not sure what happened to her.

Maybe it was that shock. Maybe it was that final jolt of loss, that sudden pain, that threw her into shadow. She was forgotten, they all were. Even the three still bodies on that unnamed terra were lost to history, disintegrating to dust.

Her eyelids fluttered open.

"Evening," he muttered.

"Where...am...I?"

A dark room, almost silver in places, her hand trembling, sheets shaking.

"Your necklace." He nodded at the stone resting on her chest, not answering her question. "You got it back."

"Yup."

"How?"

Sat up in bed. She grinned, showing her white, even teeth. "Long story short? I stole it."


	4. Why do you need to know?

_Why do you need to know?_

"Why?"

"Whadya mean?"

He pushed the white cup towards her. "Why do you think he took it?"

She pushed the cup back. "I dunno."

He shoved the cup into her hand, dark brown liquid splashing onto the tablecloth. "You know. You're just not telling me. You always were a lousy liar."

She snorted, before tipping the cup upside down, the contents trickling to the ground, before sinking into the parched earth, dying it brown.

"And you were good at it?"

He eyes her darkly. He knows something she doesn't. He aches to tell her.

"I wasn't too bad, I suppose." And he fills the cup again.

This time, she doesn't resist. Her mouth opens and takes the liquid willingly.

"I have a headache."

"I know." He glances at her necklace again. "Tell me. Please. I don't care if it takes too long. I have time."

"Didn't you get a job, or something?" She plays with the white ceramic in her hand, running a long, slim finger around the rim, trailing dark liquid.

"I...was fired." He glares at her fingers.

"Oh, really?" She snorts again. A few years ago, she wouldn't have been caught dead making a noise like that. She slams the cup against the table. It lands with a low pitched thunk. The sun hits it, and a long black shadow inches its way across the flat surface.

"Just tell me."

"Why do you need to know? Why?" Her eyes search him. She's pained. She's aching inside. He knows how she feels. He reaches out and takes the cup back, refilling it, before stuffing it into her hand again.

"Because I need answers."


	5. We watched as they fell

_We watched as they fell._

_I think you're scared of me.  
_

_Don't flatter yourself, girl. It doesn't suit your nature._

_And what is my nature?_

_And she smiles that innocent smile that he hates, yet loves, so much._

"I think he was scared of me."

"That's your answer?" He glances at her quivering fingers. Whether it was due to the caffeine, or to her memories, he didn't know. He peered into her cup. It was still full.

"Yes."

"Drink." He nudges her hands. "Drink it. It'll do you good. I'll make you some toast." He stands, the chair squeaking against the floor.

"'M not hungry." She downs the coffee in one gulp. "Save your energy. You never could cook."

"Oh, I've picked up a few tricks here and there."

He pops the fridge open. It's empty, save a few empty milk bottles and a can of beer. He frowns, rummaging through the racks and containers. No food at all.

"You're wasting your time."

"I...noticed." He closed the door, cold air gushing out behind him. "Don't you ever eat? You weigh like a...feather. Not even."

She shrugs. "I can't afford it."

"You still haven't told me the entire story." He sits down again. His eyes drill into her.

"He was scared of me. Either that, or he loved me." She grins at the empty wall behind her, as if someone was standing there. "He killed the others like they were nothing. And you saw. I saw. We watched as they fell. He was never scared of them. But me? He left me alone. So...in order to feel like he wasn't a total coward, he stole something of mine."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Well..."

"That answer your question?" And she tosses the cup over her shoulder, at the wall she had been smiling at a moment earlier.

It shatters into a million pieces.

He'll have to pick them up later.


	6. Numbered stars, numbered days

_Numbered stars, numbered days_

"I think there must be millions of them."

"Of what?"

She's clutching his hand with a death grip. She points out the window with one trembling finger, and he looks. Stars, peppering the dark blue sky. He looks at her incredulously, and realizes she's close to crying.

"I miss him...I miss all of them..." She lets go. He massages his digits, trying to get the blood flowing.

"We should go visit, sometime."

She glances out the window again. She tries to count the little specks in the sky.

He diverts his attention to a calender, hanging on the wall, with giant red X marks over the squares. Counting down to one, circled, day, towards the end of the month. He squints and sees the date.

It's marked with one simple word.

**Due.**


	7. What does love mean?

_What does love mean?_

The record player squeaks out bravely, a thin melody that he recognizes.

"You kept it, all these years?"

She smiles a lopsided smile. "The coffee..."

He eyes her hands. They're trembling. "I think you've had enough."

"I think so, too." She strokes her necklace. It flashes, streaking dabs of light across the table top. Shadows blend into one big mass, as the sun sets and the moon rises, reflecting the white light once cast by another orb.

He grabs her hand to steady it.

She stands, pulling him up with her.

"C'mon, pal. Let's dance."

And they do.

Blond and blue hair ruffling in the wind.

It's a beautiful night to be alive.

They whiz past the calender, and the word **Due **blurs, turning into **Blue, Blue, Blue, **and then **True, True, True, **and then, just a block of black.

He looks into her perfect eyes and smiles.

"Hey. Smart girl."

"What?"

"What does love mean?"


	8. Meanwhiles and worthwhiles

_Meanwhiles and worthwhiles_

He's staring at the red sky, mind thundering with anger.

The little bitch...

He cursed at the clouds and swore at the ground. He felt like breaking something. NOW. He kicked a few rocks off the edge of the terra and watched with a half satisfied smile as they fell, tumbling against each other, breaking.

He was going to go find her.

Never mind the war was over.

She stole it.

Okay, so TECHNICALLY it had been hers in the first place, but he had a right to it. Winners take the spoils, don't they? And she as good as gave it to him.

And to think that once upon a time...

He shook his head and turned for his skimmer, bits and pieces of a shadowy past swirling around in his head like broken glass. Each one a little reflection. Each one a little reminder. They hurt. He longed to get rid of them.

He'd have to ask around. But he'd find her in a week or so. And besides, even if he didn't, she'd come and find him.

Why?

She was curious. She always did have a thirst for knowledge. And he was a well of information. The necklace was a bonus. She had come, not for her property, but for him. So he jumped onto his skimmer, the seat dusty and cold, and hit the accelerator. Closed his eyes. Imagined the feel of runway underneath him, something that hadn't been true in years. And when the wind began to pick up, he pulled the clutch. Wings sprang out, wind buffeting at them from all directions, and he lurched into the sky, trying not to think about thinking. Trying not to think about whether this was worth it or not.


	9. Three promises, all broken

_Three promises, all broken_

"Remember that frigging oath we frigging took?"

She smiled at the sudden outburst of swear words. Her shoulders arched downwards, a sweeping line that seemed hand drawn. From where he sat, her silhouette looked barely human. Long hair hung from her head like feathers, and when she turned her head so that he could see nothing but the black form of a profile, she looked...angelic. But dark. A dark angel. And he often pondered if she hadn't fallen from heaven and landed in their hell.

"Where we swore to 'protect, serve, and obey the citizens of Atmos'?" She chuckled wryly, giving her wrist a little flick. "As if I could forget."

"That's a promise we never kept."

"We broke a lot of promises, in our day."

"That's true."

He could have named millions. He leaned back in his chair, the front legs sweeping off the ground. He enjoyed the balance, the danger, the possibility of falling. Almost like riding a skimmer again. One false move, and you sweep to the ground. Gravity doesn't care whether you fight for blue skies or red. It'll claim you all the same.

Another promise they had broken. Hadn't they sworn to each other, to always catch them if they fell? To always save your friends, no matter the circumstance. He should know. He'd been caught more than once, in more than one...position. But winning became necessary, and when they watched their team mates fall, it felt right for some reason.

Hadn't he sworn he would never forget? But he had. His dreams had become pleasant once more. His heart lighter. His soul purer. His friends had become nothing but memories, bodies on a Godforsaken terra. No longer did they haunt his nights. The ghosts were gone.

She stood and walked over to him. Peered into his blue eyes.

"Promise me you'll never leave."

And he looks at her. Wants to say, "Yeah, I promise." But he can't, because it'd be a lie. So he tells the truth, even though it brings a small frown on her hellishly angelic face.

"I'll try."


	10. Drifting backwards

_Drifting backwards_

He's asked around, he's banged on a few tables, even hit on a few women to secure the deal. But he's gotten her location. She's on some backwards terra in a backwards part of Atmos, where even the worst of the worst feel out of place. And someone's with her. The kid. The sharpshooter. He can't even remember the names. Of course, he's not a child anymore. They're all men, now. Which means no holding back this time. Life's too damn short and he's getting to damn old. So when he lands on the humid, sunny terra, his mind is not drifting away. It is focused, and he realizes how much he's missed the thrill of the chase.

Red eyes scan the horizon for signs of life. No one. He's getting his prize back, and he's getting it today. Never mind if the blondie's there. He'd rather have the necklace and get a few arrows up his ass than not have the thing at all. For some stupid reason, that crystal means so much to him.

Maybe because she touched it, a long time ago. Right before she died. She always did want that stone, always did want the girl dead. Always did love and hate at the same time. So he was doing it for her, wasn't he? He gritted his teeth and started down the street, feet uncertain but determined.

He walked up to the bar door and opened it, moving into the air conditioned room quickly. The bartender looked up, eyes widening. His face was well known, apparently, because the man had begun to shake. Even though he had been given an official pardon, a shred of his clothing sent shivers down the toughest of men.

The bartender set down the glass he had been wiping and staggered over to the register.

"Uh...C-can I h-help y-you?"

He flips a coin onto the table. "I need information, and you're going to give it to me." His hand inches towards the sword, still strapped on his back. "Or else."

And the bartender nods, all too happy to comply.


	11. Due dates, blue dates

_Due dates, blue dates_

Wakes up.

Must've fallen asleep.

She's already up, and she's rummaging around for something.

Snorts to let her know he's alive.

She doesn't seem to notice.

She walks over to her calender. Scratches yesterday off with a big red marker. Then sighs. Today is the **Due **day. He pulls his head up, while looking at it, and the word whorls by once more. This time, it blurs into **Blue **again, and it's a **Blue **day, not a **Due **day. For some reason, the latter title feels uncertain, forbidding, scary. He'd much rather look into the blue sky and think about flying.

But he's got to stand, got to make sure she's not going to wander down to the bar again. Instead, he tells her to stay where she is, and HE goes downstairs to the pub, maybe to use up his last few coins buying some bread. He walks onto the road. It's hot, stifling, humid. The sun is drilling into his skull. He runs, trying to make his own breeze, but the air feels like molasses. When he does reach the bar, he's sweating through his shirt. He opens the door and barges in.

And what he sees is enough to make him scream shit at the top of his lungs.

"What the HELL are you doing here?"

And all of a sudden, **Due **written on a calender doesn't seem half bad.


	12. Too damn cold for snow

_Too damn cold for snow_

The bartender's fessed up.

He sits down, gulps a gin and tonic, and decides to wait a while before moving out. It's too hot for thievery. He'd probably slip in his own sweat before getting the stone.

He remembers the dark ambiance of the throne room, the violet light cast by the crystals she was working on, her brow furrowed in concentration. A slippery thing. He hadn't thought of her as a human for many years. All the way until the near-end, he hadn't thought of her as a person. And then, it had been one sentence. One sentence she had said, one winter, close to losing, when her empire had been crumbling and Cyclonia was stumbling on its own feet.

It had been cold. They had stood on a look out tower. He had just gotten home from another failed mission, and she had forgiven him one more time. And she had looked into his red eyes with her own and said three words.

"Can't it snow?"

The words had blown him back a mile. It had been too hot in Cyclonia, the furnaces always on, the factories never stopping. Snow was nonexistent in the kingdom of red skies. And yet, here they were, man and woman, general and queen, standing in the air, staring at blank clouds, hoping for specks of white. And her words had somehow wrapped around him. Better than any pardon, better than any statement of an _I forgive you_. Just that tiny act of human pleading, that tiny question, those three words, those three perfect syllables of longing.

And he had turned towards her with the only answer he could think up at the time.

"Maybe we just need to wait."

And she had looked at him again, those violet eyes digging into him, searching out all his secrets. And she had spoken, in that quiet deliberate way of hers. "I'm always waiting."

Was she waiting still? Was she?

His thoughts were broken by the tinkling of a door bell, and then a man stepped in, blond hair dripping with sweat. He said something, something loud, something rude.

And at that moment, thinking back to the watch tower and that cold, Cyclonian evening, laced with red and violet and pain, he realized what he SHOULD have said to her.

_It's too cold for snow._

_WE'RE too cold for snow._


	13. Get

_Get_

Just seeing that man, sitting smugly in the cool bar, made his blood boil.

He wasn't supposed to be here.

The word **Due **had taken on a whole new meaning.

"Well, hello there," the dark haired man muttered.

"YOU! YOU BASTARD!" All of a sudden, he found himself lacking a weapon. He glanced around and picked up a thick wooden pole from the ground, tossing it from hand to hand.

"I'm really not in the mood for a fight."

"You're a coward. Can't even face up to me. Too scared to kill me before, were you? Why don't you try me NOW?" He's aching to hit him, wants to hear him scream, like his friends screamed. Wants to bash in his skull, wants to pull him down inch by inch until he's nothing, until he's dust. He wants to get him.

"Oh, I could beat you. I'm just too damn hot." The man waves his hand like a fan, trying to cool down. "You should sit. Stop waving that stick around like a maniac. I'm just here for something that belongs to me."

"Oh really?"

"Really. Then I'll be on my merry evil way. Cus that's what I am, isn't it? Evil?"

He drops the stick, blond hair still dripping with sweat, but this time, he doesn't notice. "Yeah, you're evil."

"And I suppose that makes you and her the 'good guys'?"

"Yeah, it does."

And the dark haired man laughs, crimson eyes sparkling. "You're so damn naive." He stands, sticks his arms out, one to each side, chest bared, as if giving himself up. "You really think you can kill, man? Really?"

"Yes."

The man laughs again, but this time, it's drier. He sits back down and shakes his head. "No, no you can't."

And deep inside, the blond knows it's true, and that fact really gets to him.

Truths you can't face, like itches you can't scratch, are just...annoying.


	14. Made In: Unknown

_Made in: Unknown  
_

"I'll take you, ANY day." The blond raises his fists.

The older man frowns. "Please. Just mind your own business and let me mind mine."

"No. This is MY friend we're talking about."

"And this is MY property."

"You stole that necklace from her."

"And she stole something of mine, so I wouldn't be talking. Besides, I won't hurt her. I'll just grab my trinket and leave." He leaned back in his chair and drummed his fingers against the rotting wood of the counter top, mind spinning. Like a roller coaster, twisting, turning, looping in midair. But roller coasters had tracks, straps to keep you in. Life was so different. Life was cruel, life was harsh, life had no safety belts. And here, in this musty bar, smack in the middle of nowhere, the only restrictions were the ones nature handed out to you, and the only rules were the ones you made yourself.

The blond hadn't backed down an inch. "I don't care."

"I've noticed." Finally, he stands again, and this time, the humor in his voice has dissipated. "Now, move. You're in my way, and I don't like to be delayed."

"I won't budge an inch."

The dark haired man sighs, stares at the floor, and ponders his situation for a few seconds. He honestly didn't want to do this, but...he had to. Sometimes, rules were made to be broken, especially the ones you set up for yourself. He almost missed having someone order him around; at least it was easier back then. You rarely ever had to make your own decisions.

The blond inches forward, hands still raised, but he's out of shape. The older man leans back, then throws his fist forward, landing a square punch on the other's jaw.

The blond goes flying out the door, landing in a mussy heap in the middle of the road. He doesn't move. For a moment, the dark haired man is afraid he's dead, but his chest is still rising and falling.

He walks out into the street, picks the boy up, (and yes, he is still a boy, in many respects,) and takes him inside, one hand under each arm. His legs still drag on the ground, and his shirt rides up, revealing a white scar that traces the length of his abdomen.

Left there by the same person, now carrying him inside the cool, air conditioned bar.

The dark haired man dumped the kid on the pub floor, headed outside, down the street, towards the dark and dingy apartments in the back streets of the terra.

In the end, rules didn't matter.


	15. Gone fishing

_Gone fishing_

The breeze was quiet as it winded in through the open window, caressing her face like a warm, once familiar hand. She recognized the touch, the gentle feel of tenderness. She knew he had loved her, and although she hadn't loved him back, at least, not in the way he had wanted her to, she still missed him. She missed his security, his confidence, his smiles, his laughter. Sometimes, when she closed her eyes, she could almost see his face. And that scared her, because no matter how hard she tried, it never seemed to come back to her perfectly. She didn't have any pictures of him; they had all been destroyed. And time had taken care of the rest; her memories of him were all groggy. She could only remember the general things about him, couldn't pick out that many specific moments. Like a child looking back on a school year, small events fade into obscurity. But unlike a child, she had no yearbook, no friends she could just...call up.

She knew that life was waiting for her. All she had to do was try. She was a crystal master, she could navigate like there was no tomorrow, and she was a strategist with no peer. But something held her back from all these things.

Was it the memory? Was it the groggy, general, shadowy past that she could barely piece together?

Wasn't it about time she cut her bonds, went down to the pier of the world, and cast out a line? Who knows what she'd catch? But no matter how hard she tried, no matter how horribly she wanted it, chains tied her down, strips of slippery memory that strapped her to the past she so wanted to run away from.

She still wore her old uniform. Maybe it was because she had nothing else to wear.

Faces of her childhood friends grew groggy, but the face of another man was clear in her mind. Didn't she sit down every day, waiting for him? Hadn't she written down her "appointment" on her calender? The only money she'd spent in years that hadn't gone towards drink and food. She stared at those three letters until they blurred. **Due.**

And finally, the day had come. She was waiting for him, waiting for a knock on the door, or rather, for the door to go flying off its hinges. She knew that her friend hadn't come back, had probably bumped into him. She fingered her necklace. He was here for IT, not for her, although she almost wished it was the other way around. Why hadn't he too, faded from her memory like the others had? Why was he so sharp inside her, like an old bullet, lodged close to her heart?

Why, why, why, why, why...

Why, why, why, why, why...

So many whys, not enough becauses. Life was too short for you to wait for answers, you had to go find them. Wasn't that why she had sought him out? Or was there a reason?

Now that why, she had an answer for.

There was another reason, alright.

She just didn't know what it was.

OOO

I've been trying to do fewer author's notes, but here's one I had to write, because you all should know.

When I first heard about a DA/P pairing, I was like, "YUCK! That's so totally...wrong." And then I read some excellent fics about them, and I was like, "O.k. I can live with that. It's not too horrible." And then along comes Dragon Faere, now known as Hermonthis, and her fic, "The Man With No Name". And I read it, and I was like, "O.k. I'm officially in love with this pairing, and I'm trying it out." So here goes.

My first attempt at a DA/P pairing, and I rather like it.


	16. Cherry blossoms on apple trees

_Cherry blossoms on apple trees_

He entered the musty building abruptly, with a bang and a puff of dust. Like the dramatic entrances of the old days, it gave him a unique kind of thrill. Unlike the old days, however, there was no one to appreciate it.

Life was SO unfair.

The front desk was empty; there was a little plaque that said, "In the building." He glanced around, saw no one, shrugged, and went behind the desk. There was a little row of keys, and, underneath them, was a row of rusty plaques that had several names scribbled on in permanent marker.

He ran his finger across the metal, trying to read the letters, then just decided on not bothering with keys. Instead, he found the resident ledger and searched out her name. It was written, in neat, blocky print. And next to her was the apartment number.

Strange...and ironic.

**2B.**

Two...B.

To be.

He wondered if she hadn't chosen the apartment on purpose. Was she trying to send him a message? But then, how could she have known he was coming?

He headed upstairs.

The stairs creaked under his weight. He stayed to the right, close to the wall, for fear that the entire thing could collapse. He didn't need anything like a broken arm hampering him from his mission.

When he entered the hallway, he looked down the corridor and let out a sharp breath. She was in for a big surprise. He smiled to himself as he made his way down the hall, sword drawn and ready to attack. He wasn't afraid to use it on her. He was here for the necklace, and for an explanation.

He reached her door and was still a little amused at the plate on it.

**2B.**

He smirked. To be, or not to be. That is the question.

He kicked the door in.

And was rather surprised to see her, sitting up in bed, smiling coyly at him, necklace wrapped safely in hand.

"Hello," she laughed, standing and walking over to him, fluttering her lashes. "I've been expecting you for a while, now." She nodded towards the calender, hanging on a chipping wall. He eyed it curiously, noting the X marks, noting the word written in that same neat, blocky font.

**Due.**

* * *

BTW, I am officially in high school...

Happy summer vacation! YES!! YES!! YES!!

Sorry 'bout that.


	17. Songbird

_Songbird_

_Life isn't fair, is it?_

_Nope._

_So why do we bother?_

_Because...if you don't believe in life, what CAN you believe in?_

_Death._

_Death is a part of life. It's the end. The end is still part of the story, isn't it?_

She knew. She knew.

Oh, for the love of shittake mushrooms, she KNEW.

He remembered she was smart, but not psychic. And she was still smiling that annoying, smug little smile. She was older, that was for sure. Taller, but still petite. Her hair was a lot longer, her face slimmer. And still childish. Always childish. Always naive about the ways of the world.

"Well then, since you seem to know so much already, I assume you've figured out why I'm here." He raised a dark eyebrow.

She tittered. "Tch, tch, tch. Manners, where are your manners?"

The necklace flashed blue.


	18. Roulette of a life

_Roulette of a life  
_

He wasn't sure why he'd loved her, or even if he had loved her at all.

Perhaps it was selfishness, greed, vanity. Or maybe, that was what love was. And when she had died, he had frowned upon himself.

_Couldn't I have prevented it? Didn't I love her? Didn't I? Didn't I?_

Hadn't he spent countless nights, pondering if his feelings for her were...correct? She was so much younger than him. She was a child. And she was his boss.

**2B.**

He had always deceived himself into thinking that she felt something for him. He was her champion. She favored him above all of her commanders, favored him to the point of trusting him with her very life, her very kingdom. He felt special. He was like the six year old kid in kindergarten, who got a gold star on his paper while everyone else got silver. He would feel unique, wanted, better, when in fact, his paper had just been the last one in the pile, and the teacher had run out of silver stars to give.

He hadn't really considered the fact that maybe, he wasn't better, it's just that THEY were worse.

He couldn't consider it.

Couldn't...or wouldn't.

His life was one big game of chance, one big MAYBE.

And here he was, staring down another girl, another child. Another strange welling was growing inside of him, another strange form of respect. The same kind he had had for the other woman in his life.

And he thought back to the cold, winter night, atop that lookout tower, when that woman, that tantalizingly distant and impossible woman, trained her violet eyes onto his crimson ones, and asked for snow.

**Due.**

After all he had done, after all he had built, after all the walls he had put up to bar away his heart for life, she managed, somehow, to wrench herself inside him and twist up his insides like they were putty.

_Didn't I, didn't I, didn't I, didn't I..._

Was he scared?

Yes, he was scared.

Scared of himself, scared of his feelings, scared of the tiny, little, blue stone that dangled form the girl's hand. He didn't know what it was.

But it meant everything to HIM, because it had meant everything to HER.

**To be Due.**

**To be due.**


	19. Gravitational pull

_Gravitational pull_

He woke up with a horrible headache, his temples pulsing. The floor was extremely hard, the ceiling extremely far away, and his jaw ached like there was no tomorrow.

"I sweat to whatever I call holy, I will kill that man..."

Talking hurt. And it didn't help that there was no one to hear him. He pulled himself up, letting the heat envelop him like some kind of sweaty blanket that he wanted to shrug off, yet keep on, all at once. He put a hand to his forehead, wiped off the sweat.

He hated the desert, always had. Remembered the old movies where the gangsters would take the "witnesses" out to the sands for a little "walk". And they'd never come back, either. A few bang bangs, a few boom booms, and you've got yourself one hell of a problem you need to get rid of.

Not that he knew anything about that, but he figured that you'd need to have the holes you bury your problems in already dug. You know, otherwise, you'd be sitting next to a rotting body with a rusty shovel and a half dug ditch, wondering if you shouldn't have worked out a little more...

Man, he always did love the old westerns, the old gangster films. He remembered gathering around the old sofa, staring at the projection on the wall, watching the people run around, laughing, snickering, slapping thighs. Watching grins move their ways across the faces of his friends. Getting his shoulder dislocated when a certain Wallop thought it was funny to give him a "pat".

And all of a sudden, in the midst of all his memories, he remembered her, and sprang up from the floor. He rushed out the door, still in a daze, intent on saving her life, should it require saving. Either way, he was going to find the man who punched him in the jaw, and punch him back. Maybe even break that sharp little nose.

Part of him didn't want to go...

Part of him wanted to see what would happen...if he left her to take care of herself.

But he loved her too much for that. Loved her to pieces. Something pulled him towards her.

The street wasn't empty, for a change. A tumbleweed kept him company, and they moved down the road, towards the apartment building. Both of them running fast, running, running, running.

He barged into the building, sprinted up the stairs, taking them three, four steps at a time. Ran down the hallway, noticed the door was down, and ran in, only to see the apartment was empty. Checked the calender.

The word had been blacked out, replaced with another.

**Gone.**

Oh, damn that girl and her puzzles.


	20. Wood

_Wood_

She held the necklace out.

"Want it? Take it." She nodded at him. "Go ahead."

He eyed her cautiously, warily, unsure as to what her motives were. But the prize was too tantalizing, too beautiful, and so, he reached out and took it. Fingertips brushed. He didn't know what to do, once he had it. Perhaps...leave.

He turned around, nodded lightly, started to go, then felt her spider-like hand wrap around his arm. "Hey, hey, hey. I need answers. That necklace doesn't come without a price."

He chuckles. "I knew it was too good to be true. Alright, girly. I'll indulge you, just this once. What do you want to know?"

"How she died."

Ha, the girl didn't miss a beat with her words.

He leaned against the flimsy wall and let his smirk disappear. He never allowed himself to smile when he talked about HER. And he was sure the girl understood, because she stopped smirking, as well.

"She is...dead, right?" She inched towards him, worry spreading like some kind of plague across her face. Still hadn't let go of his arm.

"Oh, she's dead. Six feet un-un..." He coughed. Couldn't do it. "Yeah, she's dead."

"Well, how?"

"Killed herself." He drew a forefinger very swiftly, across his throat. "Wouldn't let herself get taken. Wasn't a scum like me, you see? Wasn't going to strike a bargain with any damn council for anything. Not even for her life. Not even..."

"Not even...?"

"Me. Not even for me."

"Oh."

"I took the coward's way out."

"I wouldn't say that." She nods at the necklace. "What're you going to do with that?"

He eyes it. Hasn't thought of that, yet. "Don't know. Put it on her grave, I guess."

"Can I see it?" She's almost against him now, he can smell her breath, can feel the wood creaking underneath their feet.

"The necklace?" He holds it up; the stone reflects a dot of light and sends it onto her face, like a tiny blemish. He represses the urge to swat it away. She smiles, white teeth a'flashin.

"No. Her grave."

"No can do."

"Why?"

"Just...because." She wouldn't understand. Her grave is not a tourist attraction. It's his place to be himself, where he bares his soul to her and only her. Not that she could hear him, but he could imagine. He babbled like a brook out there, and it wouldn't feel right, bringing someone else. Especially when that "someone else" was her mortal enemy.

"Please. I need to have an explanation."

"Didn't I already give you one?" He growls out this sentence, because his soldier's mind can't tolerate the slowness of it all, the movement. Or lack thereof. "What more do you want?"

"Please." She placed the other hand on his other arm, so that she was gripping him from both sides now, and she even gave him a little shake. "Please..."

Oh, what life did to some people. A few years ago, she wouldn't be caught dead talking to him, much less touching him. He felt goosebumps rising on his arms where her hands were resting. How could he say no? How could he, when her large amber eyes were searching him out, picking out his soul, tearing him to pieces from the inside?

"Fine. Follow me."

She lets go and walks over to the calender. Scribbles something out and writes in something new. He peeks over and sees the new word. Raises an eyebrow. Time to go. His turn to grab her, slips his fingers around her wrist, jerks her down the stairs, out the door, into the street, towards his skimmer. Doesn't even leave a note.

OOO

Inspired by the song of the same name, by Second Person


	21. Fuego

_Fuego_

There was no other word for it: thrilling.

O.k, so she hadn't expected...THIS. You know, clinging to her former enemy's shoulders while flying through Atmos, keeping above the clouds where the air was so thin, her pupils dilated.

In hindsight, it hadn't taken much intuition to come up with her plan.

And yet, after all her care, she still could only weasel out a few vague answers from him.

_Where are we going?_

_Somewhere special._

_Her grave?_

_I have to stop somewhere first. Take care of some business. You don't have to go._

_I want to._

_Suit yourself._

So here she was, hair flying around her face, pupils the size of pinpricks, cold air battering her face. She felt alive, for the first time in years. The only minor flaw in this wonderful painting of a moment was the man she was sharing the ride with.

He smelled of dust and desert, of sun and stars, and yet, he also smelled of betrayal and secrets. She couldn't stand secrets; probably why she kept so many of her own. He hadn't slept under a roof in a while, she figures. She eyes the fuel gauge on his skimmer, it's close to empty. He hasn't bothered to make any stops. Something drove him to her, and it can't have just been the necklace.

"One more time: Where the hell are we going?"

Her voice is muffled by the wind, but she's sure he heard her. And yet, he's silent.

"HEY!" She's pissed now. "Idiot! Where are we-"

"Don't distract the driver," he hisses.

His voice chills her. It was so quiet. But even through all the wind's howling and the engine's chugging, she could hear every word, clear as a bell. She has no answer to how he does it.

And her having no answer is as wrong as a snake with no slither.

Finally, they slow down, and he turns to face her. Red eyes glint with something that looks like excitement.

"We're going...to the Terra of Fire."

"You mean Terra Fuego?"

"I MEAN...the Terra of Fire." And he smirks. "I have an old friend I need to visit. We'll be staying the night."

Secretly, she's thinking, _Christ help me, not anther desert piss-hole of a terra. _But she doesn't show it. The fuel gauge's needle is pressed flat against the empty side; they need to land, and soon. And then, like some kind of hellish miracle, a flat, reddish terra pops up through the clouds. She lets go of his shoulders and realizes she's been sweating like a pig; her hands have left small imprints on his shirt.

They land jumpily, the skimmer reluctant to become a bike. He jumps down, turns off the engine, and starts for another dusty looking building, with a flashing neon sign that's lost its glimmer. It merely flickers on every few minutes, shows the one word on it: Vacancy.

She slides off the bike, takes out the key, and puts it in her pocket. She still has...some sense.

It's a motel.

She marches in after him, and before he can go up to the desk, grabs his arm again.

"Don't you think someone will recognize you?"

"So?"

"So, we'll be kicked out, you ignoramus!"

"Language!"

"Fuck you. Go park the skimmer."

He raises an eyebrow. She's the last person he'd expect to curse. But he complies. He decides to humor her.

What's the worst that can happen?


	22. Cucuracha

_Cucuracha_

Marches up to the desk.

Rings the bell.

_Clink, clink._

Bell's broken. Shit.

Decides to use her voice instead.

"HEY! HEY, ANYBODY?"

"Hold your horses, li'l lady, Imma comin'." A large man with an extremely rotund belly walks in from one of the back rooms, clutching a newspaper in his ink stained hands. Sits down at the counter. Looks at her with dark eyes.

"I need two rooms."

"Two? Who's t'other one for?"

"My...acquaintance. He's out parking the skimmer."

"_He?_"

She sighs, leans on the counter. "Yes, HE. Do you have the rooms or not?"

He flips through a ledger with a cracking leather cover. Raises his busy gray eyebrows. Smirks. "Sorry, only one room left."

Moans. Doesn't know if it's true, or if he thinks she's a wedded woman having marital problems and doesn't want to spend the night with her "husband". Thinks he's doing her marriage a favor. Maybe she'll never know. "How many beds?"

Eyes the ledger again. "Just the one. Any problems?"

She wants to say, _Yes, there are problems, because I will NOT sleep in the same room, let alone the same bed, as the idiot out there parking his fuckin' skimmer._

But she merely nods and says, "We'll take it."

Later, when the coast is clear, she signals him and he comes in from outside. Mosquitoes hang around them like veils of moving dots. He swats them away; she merely lets them do what they need to do. She lets him in on the room and their situation. He smirks that annoying smirk.

"Guess it'll have to do, huh?"

She feels like hitting him.

They get the key, open their door, and look into their quarters. The walls are peeling, mold is growing, and a few jumbo sized cockroaches slither and creep across the floor. There's a chair with no seat, and a solitary bed with fading sheets and a torn mattress, which, once upon a time, might've been white.

Now, however, it was a sickening shade of...green.

"I'll take the floor," he says. It's not an offer, it's a statement. "Bed's disgusting, but at least you won't have rats crawling over you at night."

She's surprised at the gentlemanly state of his actions. Pleased.

Wary.


	23. La vie en rose

_La vie en el rose_

Fresh smell of roses from a flower shop down the street.

He wonders what kind of idiot opens a flower shop in the middle of the desert.

Brings him back, however, to what feels like a million lifetimes ago, when stars didn't die and love was stupid.

_I'm an idiot for doing this._

_Are not. Besides, I ordered you...so that makes all the idiocy go away._

_You can be so childish at times._

_Manners!_

Word hits him like a wave. Who was it that had said it in the exact same way? Was it her, the girl, dark skin, even darker hair, secretive amber eyes? Digs his hand into his pocket. Pulls out the crystal. Lets it catch the red light. Makes it glow violet like her eyes, those dark eyes that filled him like a drug of some sort. Wasn't life stupid? Wasn't life an idiot? Didn't they drink it like cheap wine, didn't they treat it like it was nothing, like they deserved it?

_What time is it?_

_Does it matter?_

Lips tasted like salt. He was sweating through his armor. Didn't know why he still wore it; the red insignia of his home had worn off long ago. All that was left were a few peeling strips of paint.

_We should go back. Someone's going to find us._

_No, they won't. And besides, who cares?_

_What would your father have said?_

_He'd have killed you._

_Small price to pay._

Life hadn't mattered. Everything was dandy. Everything was seen through rose tinted glasses.

He felt like laughing for some reason.

Puts the crystal away.

The sun dies.

Watches the girl sleep.


	24. Slender

_Slender_

She wakes up in the middle of the night and peers over the edge of the bed. He's tossed a few pillows on the ground and is sleeping soundly. She feels bad, but only a little bit. Likes the softness of the mattress, even though it smells like goat cheese that's been in the sun for a few hours.

Remembers dancing with another man, a few weeks ago, while her ancient record player pulled out a tiny melody, like a spark of light from the depths of some deep trench.

Remembers the feeling of his hand on her waist.

Remembers the smell of worry and care, plastered all over him like neon signs.

Did she love him?

Maybe...

_You made me love you...I didn't wanna do it, I didn't wanna do it..._

Perhaps.

_You made me love you, and all the time you knew it..._

Keeps on staring at the dark hair of the man lying on the floor. His back is to her, but if she cranes her neck, she can see his eyelids flutter as he sleeps. Why does he seem so human? Sliver of moonlight hits his face, cuts it in half, one half light, the other dark. Keeps on staring at the hand that's balled up into a fist, clenched against his chest. She knows what's in there.

_You made me happy sometimes, you made me glad, but there were times, dear, you made me feel so bad..._

Felt something wrench at her chest when he moved.

He mumbled something about violet and roses.

She closed her eyes and tried to sleep.

Could only see one face, like it was branded to the insides of her eyelids.

HIS.


	25. Falling stars

_Falling stars_

_Stumbles into the apartment._

Knows that she's gone. Knows she's gone with him WILLINGLY.

It hurts that much more.

_Stumbles downstairs, into the street._

What time is it? The sun is high, casts shadows. He watches his own move.

Stares at the ground when he walks.

_Stumbles into the bar and sits down with a thump._

Wonders why she'd do such a thing.

Wonders if she's really gone insane.

Perhaps.

_Stumbles into the bartender._

"Can I uh, help you?"

"No."

_Stumbles back outside._

What time is it?


	26. Viva la vida

_Viva la vida_

_Watches as she moves. She's such a pushy person; comes with the territory of princess, he supposes. Time clicks by, and he's getting impatient at many things, but mostly at the fact that he's invisible. He can't even see himself, keeps on thinking how stupid this is, that he must REALLY like her, because he'd die before coming here if it was any other person. But today, she's dressed up, and even though she doesn't really look like herself, because of the Chroma Crystal, she's still rather pretty._

_Watches as she whispers something to the usher, then slips him some coins. He shrugs and leads her, as well as him, although he doesn't know it, up the stairs, to the top of the building. Opens a trapdoor. Lets the her up, but he stays behind, still cloaked, still in shadow. The usher leaves, and soon, he's gone._

_Clambers up himself, feeling undignified. Pride's wounded. She laughs, and it's not her usual hiss. It's a real laugh, like water tinkling over smooth stones. Like a breeze, ruffling the leaves in autumn. _

_He removes the Cloaking Crystal and hands it to her. She seems to be able to channel her will through it, because in the blink of an eye, he can see himself. She removes her own Chroma Crystal and soon, she's herself again, all dressed in violet, her cloak's spikes uncurled and dangerous looking._

_"Why are we here?"_

_She laughs...again. "You always did say you wanted some vacation time. And I did, too. Quaint little place, isn't it?"_

_"Lovely," he growls._

_She leads him over to the skylight. One of the panes are missing. They look down and see that they're directly on top of the band stand, can see all the musicians. But at the moment, only one of them is playing: the pianist. She's just sat down, her fingers haven't even begun to move yet, but he can feel the music already._

_As soon as the minuet begins, he's grabbed by the wrist and jerked over by HER. She places a hand on his shoulder and guides his hand to her waist. He trembles._

_"What in the...?"_

_"Hey, you're leading, aren't you?" She grabs his other hand and begins to move. And he does too...grudgingly. She smiles, no sound comes, and he's grateful. Never noticed before how large her eyes were. Never noticed how slim, how delicate she was. Moves with her, the two like one graceful being, until he stumbles on her foot and begins to blush like a strawberry._

_She keeps her face straight, keeps on dancing. They whirl over to the skylight again. He catches a glimpse of the pianist's hands, and they dance like water across the keys. Flawless playing. He smiles back at his partner, and they keep on going, keep on strutting around the rooftop, grinning like idiots at each other._

_And that's when he falls in love: that precise, wonderful, chilling moment._

_And later that night, when they sneak out of Atmos and head back towards home, she doesn't say anything, and he doesn't say anything. They just look at each other, and they know._

**A long time ago, he felt like he was a king. A ruler. Top of his game. He was happy, despite the fact that maybe, she was too young, and he was too old. But he loved her in a way he could never describe, loved her with a yearning that felt like roses and violet and summer. There was no fire, no passion, no raging obsession.**

**Just a simple longing, a desperate need for her presence.**

**And now?**

A bitter man stared out the foggy window of a musty hotel room, somewhere in the middle of nowhere. He thought of the scent of roses and wished it was winter.

Wished it could snow.

OOO

A/N: Inspired by the song by Coldplay. And if any of you flare about the similarities between my fic and Hermonthis', go ahead. I realize that.

So what if I used her theme? Making it my own, ain't I? As Ambrel once told me, "There are no new ideas, only new ways of presenting them."

So there.


	27. Somewhere, beyond the sea

_Somewhere, beyond the sea  
_

He's got to find her. Can't just sit around and wait for her.

But he's got no idea where she is.

Asks around, but he's lost his charm, if he ever had any. Wants a drink, but knows it'll muddle his head. Wanders around the tiny town, begging, pleading, offering the little money he has left. Sells his skimmer for a few coins. Ends up worse than he started. Stares at the calender and hopes something will hit him.

Fixed the door.

Tidied up around the apartment. Bought some food.

Finally, one morning, when mist clung to the houses like spiderwebs and the sky was a slate of gray charcoal, he wakes up with a smile on his face. Maybe he's finally gone insane. Maybe it's love.

Knows that the pub is the hub of gossip.

Goes down to the bar, talks to the bartender. Cuts a deal.

He'll work there.

Sweep the floors, clean the glasses, maybe even wait on a customer or two.

Sooner or later, someone will come in with some information. After all, this is Cyclonia's former champion he's talking about. He's unmistakable. He stands out.

Hoping, praying, seething, begging.

Four things that have become part of a routine, by now.

Goes home and listens to her records.

_Somewhere, beyond the sea, somewhere, waiting for me..._

Was she waiting?

_My lover stands on, golden sands, oh, and watches the ships, that go sailing..._

Golden sands?

Ships?

He sits on the bed, buries his face in his hands, and refuses to cry for her. He knows she doesn't love him, never will. Knows she always wanted the red head who now lies six feet under terra. Knows she'll never take another.

Wants her all the same.


	28. Playing games

_Playing games_

She dreams of tomorrow.

He dreams of yesterday.

Together, they sleep until dawn, when he wakes and opens the window, letting in a hot breeze.

She stirs, lets loose a small groan of annoyance and disgust. She accidentally inhales some of the mattress's toxic fumes and regrets it. Stumbles to the bathroom. He hears a few nasty sounds he is loathe to recount.

There's some business he needs to attend to, and tomorrow, he'll show her what she wants to see.


	29. Violet hill

_ Violet hill_

He left the day before, sometime around noon, and doesn't come back until the early the next morning. Looks tired, but exhilarated as well. She wonders how that's possible. He's holding a bouquet, all roses, and she knows it's not for her.

He nods at the door.

"Still want to see her?"

"Yes."

Her voice is cracked.

He smirks and leads her out the door. She follows him down the stairs. Listens to his boots clunk, her feet patter. They go outside. The rest of the town is still asleep. Terra Fuego doesn't like the sun. People appreciate the moments of cool when they can rest in relative comfort.

His skimmer's still parked.

She holds out the keys.

He frowns when he realizes she's had them the whole time, but takes them all the same. The roses rustle against her shirt as he mounts the vehicle, sitting in front of her. She grips the seat, but it feels to loose. She grits her teeth and grabs his shoulders again. He doesn't say anything. They take off, jumpy as always, the engine filled with fresh crystals from who-knows-where. Probably stolen. They flew for a few minutes, still above the cloud layer. That's when she surprises him with yet another question.

"Did you love her?"

"Who?"

"You know...HER."

"Why do you need to know?"

She's quiet for a moment. Then, she smirks. "Why else would you get her roses?"

It's his turn to be silent. She knows the answer, and he knows she knows. Hates her for it.

By the time they arrive, the skies are a pale pink. It's a tiny terra, close to where the old kingdom of Cyclonia began. On a clear day, you could see the skeletal remains of the palace, cutting up the distant skies. There was barely room for the skimmer to land. And she noticed what was so beautiful, so unique about this place.

It was coated in violets.

She got off, and he did too, still clutching the roses. Walks over to the edge of the terra.

"Where's her body?" She asks the question before she can restrain himself. He manages a tart smile.

"She didn't really remain intact, if you know what I mean. Blasted herself. She just sort of..."

"Disintegrated?"

He nods. "Don't you get it? She IS the terra." He leaves out the fact that, ever since her death, violets have bloomed here like crazy. He sets down the roses. She's a little confused. He's so different. It's uncomfortable, seeing him act this human. Waits by the skimmer. Watches as he takes out the necklace, and twines it around some of the flowers. He kneels, strokes the earth like an old man would stroke the familiar contours of a beloved child's face. She notes many red and drying petals, scattered amongst the purple; this isn't the first time he's brought flowers.

She's jolted from her thoughts by a tiny sound. Turns. Sees he's on his knees now, staring at the ground.

Heart palpitating with guilt and confusion.

Doesn't know what to do.

Lets him be.

After a few minutes, he stands and walks back to the skimmer. "Let's go. You've seen her."

"Alright then."

She gets on behind him, as always, and they take off again. Shoots a final glance back at the violet terra.

Says a goodbye.


	30. Guilty as charged

_Guilty as charged_

_Throne room's dark. Enters, and he's a little nervous. That is, until she turns around, hood off, smile on. Asks him how the mission went. He shrugs, says it wasn't too hard, things were alright. Forgets to bow, still struck by what happened a few nights ago. Is tense. She glides down the stairs. Asks him if he still remembers the song. He smiles, tells her he can't forget. Grabs her hand and twirls her, like he did on that rooftop. But this time, the backdrop is of black, not rosy red and darker hues of violet and blue. And she's too limp. Lets go. He frowns. Tries to see her smile again. She won't. Time for HIM to ask HER a question. Asks her if she's o.k. Shakes her beautiful head. _

_"It's over. We can't win. **I **can't win."_

_Looks at her, knows she's telling the truth, but won't admit it. Snakes his fingers around hers all over again. Forces a smile onto his face, and somehow, she smiles, too. Pulls her closer. Imagines there's another song playing, a slower melody. She tries, for him. Does her best. Looks at him with glowing purple eyes. _

_"Please don't give up yet."_


	31. Hourglass shape

_Hourglass shape_

The tiny terra fades. They swoop over Terra Fuego, but he doesn't stop. Didn't even pay for the hotel room. She can't complain. It's not like they have the money.

The back terras become sparser and sparser, more and more familiar.

Finally, they land, back on the one from which she had come. He doesn't bother with turning the skimmer off. She just dismounts and tries to smile. Can't.

He looks her over, up and down. Leers. Holds out his hand.

"Nice working with you, Storm Hawk."

She takes it. Shivers. "Pleasure's all mine."

He lets go, revs the engine, and takes off into a blue sky. She walks down the road, back towards the apartments. Mind spins like a ferris wheel. Why was she this attached? Was it a good thing? Why did she miss seeing him, miss his leers, miss his jokes? Even if they were mean spirited.

Knew that there was someone else.

Knew that he'd never want her.

Turned for what she now called home. Towards the man she knows loves HER. Why must life be so complicated?

Wonders if he got her message.

**Due 2B.**

**Due to be.**

And then, the final word she left him. Printed in her neatest handwriting, on the key she returned to him.

A piece of an unfinished puzzle.

She swore to herself that today was not the last day. That she'd see him again. And when she did, she'd get her explanations. Her answers. And maybe even a proper goodbye.

Return to


	32. Raison d'etre

_Raison d'etre_

Bar's just opened. He's sweeping up, ready for customers. Hears the door bell tinkle. Doesn't even look up.

Fancies he hears her voice. Must be a dream.

How could it be otherwise?

_Hey._

_Hey._

"Hey!"

Snaps his eyes up. Sees her.

"Are you real?" is all he can rasp, before dropping the broom and grabbing her around her waist. She leans against him, whispers a lie about missing him, but he soaks it in like a sponge. She grips him, inhales the smell of wine and dust and honest work. He smells her lies, smells the stink of the mattress, the fragrant whiff of violets and roses and earth.

"I'm so sorry. So sorry." Pulls away. "I left you a note."

"Didn't tell me when you'd be back though," he says with a grin. "Coffee?"

"Sure."

Tells her about his day, about his new job. Says that he's been waiting for word. Waits for her to tell him something, but she keeps her mouth glued shut. Doesn't say a word. Later that night, when they're back in the apartment, listening to records and sipping Joe, she says only one word, one word that makes him smile and frown all at once, makes his heart do flip flops.

"Reasons."


	33. Scatter the petals

_Scatter the petals_

Lands back on the tiny terra on which he lives. Stares at the darkening sky. Pulls out the key and starts to pocket it. Sees something glinting on the teeth of it.

Starts a fire. Better light. Inspects the metal. Sees a word.

**Home.**

And suddenly, like two gears that were meant to be together, his mind clicks. All the words she had written. All the messages she had left for him.

**2B. Due. Home.**

Was it a clue? Was it, like the item he held in his hands, a key? Tried to rearrange them. Maybe the spelled something out. Maybe, maybe, maybe, maybe.

**Home. Due. 2B.**

**2B. Home. Due.**

**Due. 2B. Home.**

Yes. Due to be home...

_"You can't give up."_

_"You're so hopeful. Never thought of you as an optimist."_

_"Please don't do this."_

_They're standing on a tiny terra. Cyclonia's not far from here. They can see the palace. He reaches out, grabs her arm with all his strength. Can feel her bones. She winces in pain, but does nothing otherwise. He lets go, glares at her. She doesn't even turn on her anger, doesn't even shout at him for hurting her so._

_Takes out the dark stone. "I never could get the girl. She did win, in the end. And they're coming. I won't rot in a cell until they have a chopping block or a noose ready for me."_

_"And what of ME?" He pleads, begs, tells her she doesn't have to do this. Why, why, why. _

_"You can live. You can."_

_"I won't. I'll die with you-"_

_"DON'T YOU DARE! No, no. You haven't gone down my road. I'm too far in. I'm not going to be able to strike any deals, won't be able to work out a future. But you can." She holds up the stone. "I'm too tired, anyhow."_

_"Please don't do this." Repeats those words. Walks up to her, pulls her against him. "Not until we've had one last dance."_

_She smiles. Indulges him. They whirl around, spinning in the dark earth of the terra, and finally, he plucks up his courage in one final, desperate act. Grabs her by the shoulders and kisses her. She lets him, knows it'll be the last one. Pulls away, smiles. He sees she's crying, thinks he is too. What else could the water on his face be?_

_Touches the stone to her heart. Whispers something that sounds like an "I love you."_

_Or maybe it was just goodbye._

_Fires. He jumps forward, tries to grab her, some kind of reflex. But all he catches are a few final, violet sparks. The terra is still._

_A few months later, after the war, after his final betrayal, he returns. Sees a few little purple buds pushing out of the ground. Sets down the roses he brought for her and watches as the wind scatters the petals._

**Due to be home.**


	34. Oh, captain my captain

_Oh, captain my captain_

_The red skimmers fade into the blue, disappear, head for their home, tails tucked between their legs._

_Atmosia is still._

_And then, a shout, for finally, the red flag that has wavered above the conquered terra for many a month has been lowered. Next stop is Cyclonia itself. She laughs and smiles with all the rest, hugs her friends, looks for a certain boy, a certain man._

_Red hair visible from a mile away. Grabs him around the waist and plants a big one on his cheek._

_"Knew we could do it!"_

_Watches him blush, feels him hug her back, feels guilty because she knows what he feels for her. Can't return the feeling. They relax, calm down for a few days, then its back to training, recruiting, finding walls to build up, and jail cells to tear down. They flipped the rule book inside out. They were kings and queens. And HE was the leader of them all, green eyes lit up with exhilaration. The smell of victory was thick in the air, thick as fleas. Beautiful, beautiful._

_And when the day does come, they fly braver than they ever have before, still laughing, still a family. Still unbeatable._

OOO

A/N: Inspired by Walt Whitman's poem of the same name


	35. When lilacs last in the dooryard bloom'd

_When lilacs last in the dooryard bloom'd_

He waits for her to say something, but no words depart from her lips. She's not herself, not when he found her, drunk with her head on a bar table, and not now. He wishes she would do something, but she doesn't. Just spends hours, staring out the window. As if she's waiting for something...or someone.

**When lilacs last in the dooryard bloom'd,  
And the great star early droop'd in the western sky in the night,  
I mourn'd, and yet shall mourn with ever-returning spring.**

**Ever-returning spring, trinity sure to me you bring,  
Lilac blooming perennial and drooping star in the west,  
And thought of him I love.**

He knows what she's thinking of. Knows because he thinks of it, too. Those final moments when their commander fell. The unfairness of it all. Goal in sight. Victory in hand. And he fell, that dreadful moment when he collapsed to the floor, blood streaming like water, struck down from the skies.

**O powerful western fallen star! ****  
O shades of night --O moody, tearful night!  
****O great star disappear'd --O the black murk that hides the star! ****  
O cruel hands that hold me powerless -- O helpless soul of me! ****  
O harsh surrounding cloud that will not free my soul.**

Why must the good die young? Why must pain be so...so...painful? Why couldn't they be young forever?  
Why did stars have to fade?

OOO

A/N: Poem by Walt Whitman, same name as the title


	36. Inhale me

_Inhale me_

Returns to her terra. Follows the girl's advice to go home. This IS home.

Lies down amongst the violets. Lies down amongst her remains. Lies down and stares at the clouds. Finds the tiny mound of earth in which the crystal lays. Digs it out. Stares at it.

Thinks of snow. Turns over, face down, and breathes in. Fancies he can smell her hair, can smell the crystal dust and the sweat on her skin, can feel her body in his arms, his lips on her face. Her violet eyes digging into him. Unsure as to whether it's a dream or if it's reality. Whispers her name over and over.

Only three dances.

Only three.

Not nearly enough.

They could've danced forever. Why couldn't the sunset last? Why couldn't that rooftop have remained immortal?

Sits up. Feels embarrassed, even if there was no one to see him. Reburies the crystal. Mounts his skimmer.

Flies for the lonely remains of her old palace.


	37. Catch me if i fall

_Catch me if I fall_

_The day had a beautiful breeze winding through it. _

I walk over and sit next to her. She's toying with her hair, twirling it around her finger.

_He looks back and grins at her. Asks her if she's ready._

She stares out the window with sorrowful amber eyes, and I stare at her with sorrowful blue.

_She says, "Of course."_

I wonder what she's thinking. If she regrets that day as much as I do.

_The battle rages. Her ride stutters, breaks, plummets._

Does she hear his screams at night? His begging? His turmoil?

_He grabs her, sets her down on the ship. Smiles, tells her to stay down, that things'll be alright._

Does she see the explosion of red, the splatter of his blood, the snapping of bones?

_Flies away, still smirking. Blast of red hits him square in the chest. Is thrown to the ground like a rag doll. Breaks like porcelain._

Does she hear his moans of pain, the final rasp of breath that escaped him?

_The red army is retreating, pulling away, splinters of an empire, save one man who stands over the broken body of his enemy. She races up to her friend, cradles his head, and stares at the other man, the dark haired one who is staring at her, something that looks like sorrow mounting inside of him._

We all watched it happen. Couldn't believe a moment of it.

_Stands and faces him. Dries her tears. He just reaches out and grabs her, tears her necklace off. She doesn't do anything, falls to her knees again, continues holding her friend. He flies away, clutching a glint of blue star in his hand._

I still wonder how she got her stone back.

I still wonder how THEY are.

I wonder when I'll get my revenge.


	38. Never forgive, never forget

_Never forgive, never forget_

He's a bitter man, doesn't let go easily. He'll hold a grudge, and he'll hold it forever. He's got too many enemies to count, because for every Sky Knight he sent to a fiery death, there was always a squadron, always a family, always the pesky younger brother or the vengeful son. But he doesn't forget a single one. All it takes is a look. He can pick your face out from millions, if he has to. In a different life, he could've been a pretty good hit man. He'll chase you from one corner of the universe to the other. It won't make a difference if you're five or thirty, man or woman, weak or strong. You can run, but you can't hide.

Makes him a hard man to know. Makes him a hard man to love.

Few dared to try. And even fewer succeeded. And even fewer still gained his appreciation. Only one, actually. And he wasn't even that sure if she actually loved him. Maybe she did, maybe she didn't. Twas a fifty-fifty chance. Flip of a coin. He calls heads, Fate calls tails, and as long as he's alive, that coin won't land. He'll only be able to ask her once it's all over.

_See you in hell, girl._

Once, a very very very long time ago, a nameless Talon had said, not to his face, of course, that he should go see a shrink. Anger management issues. Controlling. Bossy.

He hadn't even bothered with the kid. It had been funny, because it had been true.

The anger management part, not the shrink.

He's not proud of himself. Knows it's a long, dark, road. Knows there's no turning back. No detours. It's not a dead end, either. This road leads straight to hell. He'll walk it until it's over, walk it until there's no more ground to walk ON.

After all, he's spent a lifetime touching heaven, flying skies both blue and red.

An eternity in hell doesn't seem like that bad of a trade-off.


	39. Poppy seeds

_Poppy flower  
_

She doesn't like being home. If you could call this piss hole of a terra home. More like a shit hole for low life scum. She was the only girl on the terra who wasn't a hooker. But she was dangerously close to becoming one, because money was tight. Plus she felt guilty watching her friend do all the work.

She needed excitement, she needed clear skies, the exhilaration, the wind in her hair and the sun on her face.

Now, she had the last one.

Sun was here every single day.

She needed something to do, period. Hated waking up every morning with no purpose, no meaning, no chores or even a due day to look forward to. So one morning, she gets up and goes outside. Walks to the edge of the terra and stares at the clouds that clutch to the rocks.

Thinks about flying.

Maybe he'll come back on that bloody red skimmer of his. Maybe he'll leer and say he's got a surprise for her. Maybe he'll steal her away and kill her.

Much as those thoughts scare her, they also thrill her.

She feels guilty.

She feels good.


	40. Rusted out

_Rusted out_

There's no such thing as a landing strip. They were all set fire to, during the great retreat, for fear that enemy skimmers would use them to attack the stronghold.

This makes touching down a bit of a hassle.

Lands in the boondocks, one of the small terras to the north of the main palace. He turns on his jet wings, which, surprisingly, still work, and glides to the fortress, landing on the hard floor. Ash rises like ghosts from the ground. He waves it aside and makes his way to the throne room.

It's a dark and damp place. Moss, spiderwebs, and several other things that are best not mentioned crept their way up the walls. A once glimmering and night like splendor, reduced to piles of ashes and rusting metal.

The palace creaks. His presence does not go unnoticed.

Bats take flight.

He knows that this was his only real home. Wouldn't have it any other way.

He reaches the highest chamber. Her throne room. Here, where the ceilings are nonexistent and the wind has had free reign to tear through, the metal is still clean. No ashes gather, no moss clings to the walls. The podium where she once stood is gone, replaced by giant bolts and a gaping hole in the floor. No doubt torn away during some mega storm. He shuffles his feet and feels like a visitor, a stranger.

Notices something, glinting in the corner of his eye. Rushes over to it.

It's just a crystal fragment, probably dropped by some Talon during the rush of defeat. Or maybe it was hers, he'll never know. Pockets it.

Just in case.


	41. Tear down the stars

_Tear down the stars_

She left sometime last night.

He cursed, kicking at several cans and flailing like some deranged octopus.

Blond hair sticking in all directions like a pee soaked mop. How could she?

After everything he'd done for her, all the waiting, all the blind faith that she'd come back, that she could love him. His hopes fizzed away like sparks of a dying fire.

He wasn't sure how she left, but he had a hunch a _certain _someone helped her out.

There was only one answer to this: he was going after them.

And this time, there really was going to be no mercy.


	42. Flicker fuzz

_Flicker fuzz_

She'd hitched a ride from some fellow she met in the bar. Sweet talking was still pretty hard, considering she hadn't done it before, but the stinkin' SOB was too pissed up to care. She was a female, and she was pushing herself onto him. He couldn't have asked for more, at two in the morning on a Monday night.

She clung to his alcohol-smelling self and tried to not...breathe...in.

Remembered a few days ago, clinging to another man, tearing across the Atmos on a mission like no other she'd ever been on before. She felt really stupid and really guilty.

She had let him drop her off at a wayside terra that bore nothing but a motel and a few rusty skimmers, plus a flickering neon sign. He tried to follow her into the building, but one kick to the nether regions took care of HIM. She took out her crystal staff and blasted him with her one and only weapon: a Paralyzer Stone. He froze up.

She popped into the motel and got a room.

She'd find some adventure in the morning.


	43. Joining forces

_Joining forces_

He barged into the pub, roaring.

"Where is he?!"

The bartender's heart almost gave out. "Where's who? You want my money? I'll give you the money! C'mon, man, I got a wife and kids, I didn't do nothin'!"

He laughed. Leaned against the counter and pulled his face within an inch of the bartender's. "I don't want your money, although if you really have to give it to me..." He grinned. "I won't stop you. Now, I'm looking for a blond kid, about yea high." He held his hand out at shoulder height. "And he's cocky, too. Damn cocky."

"We-well, he worked for me...a little while ago...eh...no references, b-but I felt sorry for the guy, ya know...I-it ain't my fault, I didn't know he was in trouble with YOU..."

"You might want to get to work on that cash register," he said with a grin. "Continue."

The bartender hobbled over and flipped a switch; the drawer swung open. "Er...here, here..." He slathered money over the counter top. "Anyways, a couple days ago, he skipped on me, didn't come to work or anything, just ran out one day...I don't know where he is, man, I swear!"

After a few drinks, on the house, of course, and some extra chatting with the "customers," he headed out with a pocketful of dough and a mission. He was going to find that girl, even if it meant partnering up with...

Mr. Cocky-pants.


	44. Sharp

_Sharp_

There was a flicker of red light when the sun set that gave her the thrills. She sat on the edge of the terra and relished the feeling of being so close to falling.

She never thought of herself as a reckless person before.

And yet, here she was, walking the razors edge and not caring about getting cut.

And then, a red skimmer that made her want to throw up and cheer all at once.

She went up to her room.

How'd he find her?

That man had his ways.


	45. Deep down and hidden

_Deep down and hidden_

He needed to stop and refuel. A wayside terra that bore nothing but a tiny shack and a dried up looking well didn't look good for buying crystals, and he wasn't too sure about landing, but something pulled him to it.

Besides, he had money. It rustled in his pocket, crackled as he moved. Sweetest sound in the world, save her laughter.

It was morning. He thought he saw a blue and gold clad shape standing on the edge of the terra. He smiled to himself. This was going faster than he thought it would. The blond wasn't too hard to track. His ride had been old; a trail of gunky crystal dust had floated through the air, a dark streak of black across a blue sky.

Landed.

"Hey, you."

The boy turned, eyes widening in shock. "Not this again. If you're here to hit me, I'm telling ya, that's not a good decision."

"What, you got a bigger stick than last time?" He grinned. "No. I'm looking for someone, and you're going to help me find her."

"Not happening. She's safe, away from you. I can find her myself, thanks very much."

"Ah, there's the problem." He took out a wad of cash.

"You can't bribe me," the blond snorted. "I'd rather have her far from the likes of you than have a million bucks any day."

"I realize that. But you'll need fuel. Maybe even a new skimmer altogether. You'll need food, water, and not just for you. And what about when you find her? How're you going to get her back to the piss hole of a terra you came from?"

The kid glared at him, knew he was right.

"Fine. Fine. But you keep that sword strapped to your back, you hear? And if you lay a finger...no, scratch that, if you so much as LOOK at her funny, you'll find yourself splattered across the Wastelands. I'll send you down there in fuckin' installments, if I have to."

He chuckled at the kid's words. Empty threats. Emptier than the big blue sky before them.


	46. Curve of the moon

_Curve of the moon_

They took off that night, one skimmer trailing the other. Flew through the darkness, relying on the clouds for cover. They stared at each other warily, caring more about what the other man was doing than where they were flying.

Got off track too many times to count.

There were several moments when he just wanted to knock him off his skimmer.

But he gritted his teeth and leaned forward.

Finding HER was more important.

He wasn't sure why he was back for her, why he wanted to find her so badly. After all, weren't they enemies? He glared at the dark haired man with distaste. Loathing. Hatred. Pity.

Pity?

Now that didn't belong on his list of "Ways to Hate the Man Who Killed Your Friends".

Then again, he looked so pained. And maybe he wanted the same thing.

Answers.

Flew into the morning, not stopping for fuel, both crystals and food wise. Saw a tiny terra, and a small shape clad in blue and gold sitting on the edge. He stayed behind, let the red skimmer go first. Needed to clear his head for a few moments.

He watched the sea of blue underneath him churn with white clouds. Wished that it was water, instead. Wanted to swim, all of a sudden.

_"Why do you need to know? Why?"_


	47. Surprise, surprise

_Surprise, surprise  
_

She stood to greet the red skimmer, only to see a rusty blue one rise from the clouds. Oh. So they BOTH came.

She felt a little shaken by the fact that they both wanted her enough to work together in order to find her. A little more than shaken, actually. More like...positively shocked.

He landed and got off his Switchblade. She watched the sword on his back glint as he moved. Dismounted and grinned at her. She half expected a hyena-like laugh to erupt from his mouth.

Then the other skimmer touched down, with far less grace. She raced up and hugged him. Could tell he was glaring over her shoulder at the dark haired enemy who was leaning against his ride.

"How'd you get here?"

"Hitched a ride."

"In what way?"

"Let's just say my chauffeur's going to be out cold for a little while and leave it at that, alright?"

"Let's to home."

"No."

She knew her answer shocked him. Him and only him. The other one just grinned, as if he expected that response. Could he see the sinful thoughts she had every night, her guilty fantasies of tearing across the Atmos, having adventures and fighting monsters like they had in the old days?

Later that day, when shadows had fallen and a few explanations had been dealt all around, they sat around a crackling campfire. She clung to her friend's arm, whereas HE stayed in the shadows. She almost felt sorry for him. Watched him stare into the fire and wondered what he was thinking.


	48. Firefly

_Firefly_

The fire crackled and popped, random sparks flying into the night sky and joining the stars, before fizzing into nonexistence. He sat away from the two Storm Hawks, kept his eyes down.

A skimmer swooped through the sky and landed on their terra. Some loud, rambunctious person dismounted and staggered into the motel, whooping. The slamming of doors. And then...

_Squak, squeak, ding ding, "Oh, Susannah..."_

The horrible, off key playing of a frigging guitar.

He stood and stomped off towards the building. Didn't listen to the protests of the other two. At least they didn't follow him.

He marched past the skimmer rack and looked at the newcomer's ride. A license plate that read **FUK TERRA**. He grinned at the words. How very true.

A few minutes and several punches later, he trotted back outside, large black case in his hands. Sat back down at the fire and grinned through the flames.

"You get him to shut up?"

"Oh yeah. He won't be singing tonight. I stole his...'muse', as he calls it."

She looked at the instrument with interest. "Can you still play?" She looked at her friend.

"I go electric, girl." He grinned, a spark of the old days. Some kind of inner sanctum where he kept his memories opened up for a moment.

She looked at HIM. He glared at her with crimson eyes and tried not to respond.

"Can YOU play?"

"Maybe."

"Play something, then."

He hated women. They were so...so...infuriatingly correct about everything. Ninety nine percent of the time. He unlatched the case with quick, snappy movements, not taking his eyes of her smirking face for a moment. Pulled the acoustic out. It was a rather banged up thing, really. Scratched and nicked. Probably never played correctly.

Sighed and turned the tuning pegs. Strummed the strings a few times. He searched the case for a pick and found one.

She smiled. "C'mon."

He glared. "All we need now are s'mores and a drunk scout master. This couldn't get any better," he grumbled, voice dripping with sarcasm. He started to pull out an unfamiliar melody. She didn't move. Her friend just blinked.

Some old thing he'd picked up in Cyclonia, back when he still had free time to practice.

The piece finished. He leered at them both.

So it was nice to keep to his music, after all.

He decided to surprise them. Closed his eyes and thought back to the night on the rooftop. The song they played, the song he danced to. Started to strum. He thought about the violet in her eyes when they danced. He never really knew the name of the song, just...liked it.

And she started to whisper the words.

_Just around the time, the shadows call...I undress my mind and dare you to follow...Paint a portrait of my mystery...Only close my eyes and you are here with me..._

He didn't even smile. Just let his fingers wander aimlessly across the instrument, finding the notes, playing the song he hadn't forgotten.

_Your unexpected love provides my solitary's suicide...I wish I knew..._

Strummed the final chord. She stopped whispering.

Fireflies flew around their heads, against the backdrop of a night black terra. And they looked like stars that were visiting earth.

Would turn off and fizz away come morning, like all the other good things in life.

OOO

A/N: Poll on my profile, go check it out


	49. Fact of life

_Fact of life_

Sat on the terra's edge. Heard footsteps behind her. Someone sat down next to her. She didn't bother looking. She knew who it was.

"Hey," she mumbled. "I'm not going home, you know."

He didn't make a noise.

She sighed and continued. "I just want adventure. I want to fly again, you know? I just don't want to go back with you."

"And I don't want to take you, girl."

She swung her head around. Oh, shit. It wasn't who she thought it was, after all. "What're YOU doing here?"

He looked a little taken aback. "What, man can't go sit where he wants to, nowadays? Have the laws changed while I've been holed up on my little backwater terra?"

She snorted. "No. But you should be able to tell when girls need their privacy."

"You seemed fine when you thought you were talking to Mr. Cocky-pants over there." He grinned. "Maybe you just don't like me."

"And what in the WORLD led you to THAT conclusion?" She pulled some grass and tossed it into the sky, letting the yellowed blades spin and swivel before being grabbed by gravity and pulled down into the Wastelands. She stared into the sky, the big blue of air.

"I really think you should go home, you know." He inched away from her. "This isn't the place for a person like you."

"I don't take advice from ex-Talon commanders. And I can choose where I belong, thanks."

"No, you can't."

"What?"

"You can't choose where you belong, girl. It's a fact of life. Sometimes you find your niche, sometimes you don't."

"Did _you_?"

He was quiet after that. Maybe he didn't know the answer. Maybe he did, and just didn't want to say it. He just stared at the clouds, same as her. She wondered what drew him to her like cold hands to a fire. Moths to a flame. Her case was more like the latter situation; moths were often zapped when they got too close to lamps.

She'd do her best not to hurt him.

After all, he'd been slapped down enough. She could tell. She remembered the first time she ever saw him, face to face. Looking through a periscope, watching him get closer and closer, flipping through lenses to better focus.

He'd let a leer creep across his face. His clean cut, intelligent, cunning, animal like face.

Now...it looked sun weathered, tired, and resigned.

Like a wolf that'd been caged up for too long.

Like a hawk with wings tied down.

And a simple question crept into her mind.

_Did he regret any of it?_


	50. Please don't cry

_Please don't cry_

He never did understand girls. Women, sure. Old ladies, maybe. But girls? Never.

Sitting next to her on that terra, he felt more confused than ever.

He watched her stare into space and followed her example. Just didn't talk. Silence was golden, but bitterness was platinum. Some kind of echo resounded quietly within him. He let it bounce around, punch at him.

So filled with emotions and words. Was about to burst at the seams. Felt horrible and wonderful all at once.

_Nice sunset, _he thought. And in his imagination, she replied:

_Yeah. Nice._

In his imagination, a different person was sitting next to him. In his imagination, the skies were gray and white snow was fluttering to the ground. A tinge of red in the distance would mark home. A spark of blue behind them would mark Atmos. And they would sit in between, where black met white, red met blue.

Where they found violet and gray all at once.

He heard a sniffle next to him. Turned and saw her eyes welling up with tears.

"Nice sunset," she said out loud. _sniffle._

Oh, the irony.

"Yeah. Nice."

She was really crying now. Her friend should've been here for this; he was the one who was supposed to comfort her and all that. He watched her sob, then felt extremely guilty for not doing anything. Felt like getting up and walking away. Couldn't.

"Hey. Don't cry." He looked at her. "Please."

"Sorry." She dried her eyes. "It's just..."

"You knew someone who liked sunsets?"

She shrugged. "Yeah."

"They still around?"

"Not really."

He gave a little grunt. "Same here."

Imagine that. Two lost souls staring at a sunset. Some kind of signal that Armageddon is near. He kept his eyes off her, feared what would happen if they turned at the same time. Because for some reason her eyes remind him of sunsets, furnaces, and deep red mines. Snow less nights and fiery mornings.

Did he burn inside?

No.


	51. Forgot how to laugh

_Forgot how to laugh_

"Hey."

She was walking towards him. He was attempting to fix his skimmer. Attempting, however, didn't always mean succeeding. The bolts were all rusted down, bound to the metal by brown gunk. He gave up and stood, trying not to blush at the fact that he was covered in skimmer grease, from blond head to nicked boots.

"I'm a mess, I know." He grinned. "What is it?"

"Nothing, nothing. Just felt like talking."

"Is he giving you trouble?" He looked around, reaching for the wrench.

"No, no. Nothing like that. C'mon, you know why I'm here."

"No I don't."

"I don't want to go home."

"That's what you say NOW."

"It's what I'll always say."

She looked like she wanted to tell him something, but couldn't. He knew the feeling.

"You look horrible," she said.

"I look rockin', actually..."

She only smiled. He frowned. She used to laugh at his jokes, no matter how obscene or ridiculous they were. She had changed, he knew, but had she forgotten to laugh?

A shadow flitted across the ground. A tall, familiar looking shadow. He looked up to see the dark haired man with a frown on his face.

"Hey, love birds. Sorry to interrupt, but we've got a problem."


	52. Inner workings, broken parts

_Inner workings, broken parts_

_You're funny._

Wasn't it a pretty sunset? Yes, yes it was...Burning, slicing through the gray clouds of evening, breaking twilight like twigs. Crackle of grass underneath his feet. It was a beautiful sunset. Burning, slicing through the gray clouds of evening...

His mind was flying in circles.

_I don't see the point. We're all going to die, anyways._

_Aw, man. Don't give up on me so easily._

_Hey, you know me. Always optimistic._

Voice dripped with sarcasm. A lot of it, too. He never did anything without a reason, and wasn't love reason enough for anything? Flying around the blue skies, loving a girl with blue hair, friends with the guy that SHE loved, oh wasn't life a demon, and wasn't he trying to avoid the reality of it forever?

_You know I like you, right?_

She grinned at him.

_Of course! You're a great friend!_

Why did those words sting? Why, why, why...He didn't mean...you know, "friend" like. More like...like like. Love like. Or maybe just love.

He stared at the ground and thought about what just happened. Felt the lump on his head, swelling to the size of a Thanksgiving parade balloon.

_Hey, pal. You ready to end this?_

_Sure, man. I'm your wingman, ain't I? _

_Not just that, man. You're my best friend._

Friend. Was that all he'd ever be? The girls thought he was funny. They used to, at least. Nowadays, he was too distant for any of them, save one. And all he'd ever be to her was a friend.

Now how's that for unfair?


	53. Fix you

_Fix you_

She followed him around the corner, after he said there was a problem. What sort of problem?

As soon as she was on the other side of the wall, he cupped his hand over her mouth. She didn't even try to scream. He just grinned and hefted a large rock.

Footsteps from the other side.

"C'mon, you two. What's the prob-"

He didn't stand a chance.

There was a dull thud, then another dull thud. Thump thump. Cadunk. Boom. Whatever kind of onomatopoeia you want to insert for a rock thudding against a blond's head, then said blond falling to the ground.

His gloved hand slid off her mouth.

"What the hell are you DOING?"

Oh, big mistake.

"You don't want to go home, do you? If you can call that stupid terra home, anyways. I just got rid of one of your problems."

"And gave me a million more!"

"Well..." He grinned, sweat trickling down his forehead to his chin. His face was only an inch from hers. She could feel every wave of warm breath coming from his nostrils. His breath smelled like that morning's coffee. "You win some, you lose some. Plus...that was fun."

He pulled back. She followed him, grudgingly, to the skimmers. Sat down on her friends and revved the engine. She didn't feel the slightest tinge of guilt, and that was what scared her.

They took off, even though she had some trouble with her ride. She just followed his craft, kept her foot on the brake, in case he made any sudden stops.

But there was no such thing.

Night came quickly, yet they kept on flying. She realized he was taking her West...to Cyclonia.

Didn't ask any questions this time.

The skies were no longer red, that much was evident. The empty space between the tall spikes of the old palace were filled in by a backdrop of black velvet, speckled with sequins of heaven.

They landed on a tiny terra.

"Why here?"

"You told me to go home. This is home. Why?"

"You looked like you had some questions of your own. Home always provides answers." She sighed. "That much is always evident."

"Well, all coming home did to me was make it...make it that much more..." He stumbled on his words. He wasn't one to talk about his emotions. The most he'd ever babbled about his inner workings in a sober situation was when he talked to HER, on her little violet terra.

The dark skinned girl watched him. Helped him finish his sentence. "Painful?"

"Well..." He sat down. "Yes. And you know what hurts the most? Seeing the palace like this." He chuckled emptily. "I'm not even supposed to be here. Something about the restrictions they slapped on me when that pardon was granted."

"You're not allowed in Cyclonia?"

He shrugged. His back was to her, but she could always tell when a person was about to let a few tears fall. She felt a little less awkward, this time. Sat down next to him.

"At least now you can see the stars."

"There's always that," he admitted.

"I wonder how many there are. Wish I could count them."

"And what would you do, once you reached the end? Wouldn't you have destroyed the entire point of infinity? Of mystery?"

His question puzzled her. Astounded her.

She supposed he was right.

"Stars take you home," he said all of a sudden.

And she realized that he was right.

"It's pretty broken," she said.

"Oh, it is. On the outside, maybe. But the soul's still alive."

_Due to be home. Due to be home. Due to be home._

Maybe a part of her had written those words for herself, not just for him. She looked at the lights above, the lights that would always guide her home. Pierced her to her very soul. Maybe she, too, was due to be home. She jerked him on the shoulder and pulled him up with her as she stood.

"Let's go," she said, rather quietly.

"Where to, m'lady?" He smiled broadly, and she knew it was a real one, because his eyes flashed different shades of crimson.

"Home."

OOO

A/N: Inspired by Coldplay's song of the same name


	54. Shake it, shake it

_Shake it, shake it_

"How 'bout another one, sonny?"

"Whatever."

"Choose your poison."

"Same stuff."

He watched the glass fill up with amber liquid, and was suddenly reminded of her eyes. Oh, the irony. Cruel, cruel, irony. He downed the entire thing in a moment. Several eyebrows were raised.

"You gonna be real pissed in the morning, little fella."

"I'm not...littele..." he slurred. "Imma gonna ge-y-you for tha' in t'monering..."

"Hear that? He said 'monering'," a couple beefy men said, ribbing each other. _snicker snicker, haw haw haw._

"I mean' ta say 'morning'," he said. _burp. _"Whoa. 'scuse me."

The bar was filled with lonely blues music and the chink of glasses against each other as the bartender cleaned up. He couldn't remember how he got here, couldn't remember the name of the establishment, and most definitely couldn't remember how many he'd had. Could only see her face when she smiled.

He'd wake up in the morning with his face plastered against the table, bits of who-knows-what all over him. The bartender would remember him only because he was mumbling a name out loud. He'd be kicked into the dusty street, open his eyes, and realize he was back where he started.

He'd stumble back to the apartment. **2B. **He'd stare at the calender with bleary blue eyes, before downing a gallon of coffee and dragging himself to the bathroom to throw up.

But that was all for later, and for now, he was drunkenly unaware of what his next day would be like.

Just sat and watched the lights in front of him dance and shake...


	55. Storm hawks

_Storm hawk_

_Lights will guide you home, and ignite your bones, and I will try..._

They flew from night to day, then back to night again. Home was far across the Atmos, to a place she rarely ever visited anymore, if at all. Sometimes she thought it better to forget than to remember. And she was sure the man who flew next to her often felt the same thing.

They'd both given up on loving, for fear of being abandoned again.

And she had tried SO hard to love. SO hard. But it just hadn't come. She didn't know how to call someone she'd always called "friend" a lover. And he really had been her best friend. Maybe he still was. Except now he was buried six feet under terra, never to see his beloved sky again.

And him? Her ex-enemy? He wasn't her friend, that was for sure. But she wasn't so sure about not liking him anymore. And she'd seen a totally different side of him lately, a side she was confused about, but rather liked.

Thunder rolled across the dark skies. Clouds obscured the stars, and rain began to fall.

_Plip._

The wind roared in their ears. The rain was really coming down, now. Coming down in droves.

_Plip, plip, plip, plip-plip._

"We should find cover!" he roared, over the tearing tempest. She could only nod; the wind was too strong in her mind for her to do anything else. Lighting streaked across the sky, shocked her and sent her reeling. She tried to hit the brake on her craft.

_Clink, clink._

Oh, shit. It was jammed. What a time.

At least her mouth was working, now,

"Aah!"

Another bang of thunder, a strip of white, and a dark collision in the distance. The storm's center was getting closer. His ride was turning around towards her plummeting one; apparently, the rusted parts had finally given out.

She didn't have a parachute. She couldn't see the other skimmer. She just leaned back and waited for Wasteland to claim her.

And then...

"OI! DO YOU WANT TO BE FUCKIN' RESCUED OR NOT?"

She almost smiled. He reached out and grabbed her arm, jerking her onto his craft. She didn't look back, didn't want to see how close to death she had come. The clatter of her skimmer breaking on rock was drowned out by the bang of thunder. His still working ride chummed along as they headed for the nearest terra side, peppered with holes.

He landed on a ledge leading to one of the smaller caves. Dragged her inside before letting go. She sat and started to wring her hair out. He sat down opposite from her and started a fire with the Firebolt in his sword and some dry twigs he found in the back of the cave.

A merry little flame was ignited, and she scooched across the cave floor to get closer to the warmth of the fire.

"I guess I should thank you," she murmured. "You did jerk me from a falling skimmer, after all."

"I did, didn't I?"

They looked out the cave opening, at the dark storm before them. Black shapes were moving across the sky. Both of them had to squint their eyes to see what they were.

Hawks.

He turned to look at her. "Did you see...?"

"Yup."

She stood, then sat down again, this time right next to him. No doubt for body warmth. She was shivering. He grudgingly inched closer, then stoked the fire. "You miss your old team, don't you?"

"Well...sometimes. Almost always. They were my family. I loved 'em, you know? Didn't you feel that way when you were a part of the Storm Hawks?"

He'd never talked of his old days, when he still flew for Atmos. "For a little while, yes. Then, unlike some people," he said, looking directly into her eyes, "I grew up. It just wasn't right for me, flying under certain laws, certain restrictions. Cyclonia was always my home."

"Always? What about your friends?"

"I'm not...I just..." He sighed. "I'm not as proud of what I did as I was ten years ago, alright? I've changed, the world's changed, and sometimes I wonder if sending them all to the Wasteland was the right thing to do."

He watched her shiver. Wished he had a blanket. Then, he realized she was gritting her teeth and holding back tears. He could always smell out emotion, fear, sadness. Something he used to think was a talent, but now was just a convenience. He found himself placing his hand on hers.

Stared outside again, at the white lightning flashing across the sky. The hawks were gone. Hawks of the storm, eh? He thought of his old team, of the good times they had, the naive games they used to play. Oh, they were all heroes, and they could do no wrong.

He turned at the girl beside him, her hand underneath his. She'd stopped shaking, was just staring into the fire that was the color of her eyes.

_Lights will guide you home, and ignite your bones, and I will try to fix you._

OOO

A/N: Oh, yeah, long chapter. Sometimes, the chapters are drabbles, sometimes they're not. Yippee.


	56. Light

_Light _

The storm dissipated as soon as morning came.

He woke before her, saw his hand was still resting on top of her slim fingers. Her cinnamon colored skin glowed in the early morning lights. He could imagine what she smelled like, just by looking at her.

He gave her hand a squeeze. Her eyelids fluttered open. She gave a sleepy, "Morning."

He stood and kicked at the dead ashes of the fire. He went outside; his ride wasn't damaged. Much. It still worked, in any case. She jumped on behind him, grabbed his shirt, and winced as the roar of the engine tore through the morning silence. They took off into the blue sky.

_Don't you play innocent with me, _she thought at the heavens. _Don't think I forgot about last night._

"Go north," she said out loud.

He grunted and turned left, following the needle on his compass. He kept on glancing back at her with those cunning crimson eyes. She just rubbed her hands against one another and tried not to notice.

_What was the date?_ she wondered. It felt like it'd been weeks since she left her friend on the old terra. Bruise the size of Texas on his head. Ah, here came the guilt. Her stupid conscience. She felt bad.

They flew for hours. A gnawing pit in her stomach begged for food, and, judging by the rumblings she kept hearing from his gut, he was hungry, too. She wondered why he was letting her do this. Letting her drag him across Atmos.

Sort of like a love stricken boy would offer to walk his date home.

But he was no boy, and she was certain he didn't love her.

Well, relatively certain, anyways.

Finally, when night had almost driven in again, and the gray chords of twilight were being strummed on some celestial guitar, they found it.

Twas a tiny terra with tall green grass and a tiny hill. Marked with three flat stones, and a makeshift flag pole, upon which fluttered a blue banner of freedom.

A faded azul hawk still stretched towards heaven. Never dejected, always head held high.

They landed on the edge, and she moved through the grass with familiar grace. He watched her walk, watched her head tilt over her shoulder. His eyes traced the line of her jaw, her neck, the swooping contours of her shoulders and waist. He'd never noticed how she seemed to glow in all light.

She stood in front of the first two graves, then knelt at the third and kissed her fingers. Pressed them to the earth. He walked over himself and stared at the final marker, the last piece of wind rubbed rock.

Read the name and remembered the face he used to hate, but hated no longer.

Said two words that would've meant the world, had the person receiving them been alive.

"I'm sorry."

She listened to him say those words, and she stood. Felt sleepy all of a sudden, and leaned against him. He let her. Stared at the three silent bodies on that one silent terra.

Dusk fell. Crickets chirped, and the high grass rustled.

He realized why she loved and hated this place so much.


	57. Dinner time

_Dinner time_

"Why do you think a smart kid like him loved a girl like you?"

"Why are YOU not helping ME make dinner?"

"You call that shit dinner?"

"I do, because it IS."

"That's a bunch of weeds in water."

"Those 'weeds' are sassafras, same stuff as root beer."

"We're having root beer for dinner?"

"No...Seeing as we're missing sugar and all that junk they put in drinks nowadays."

"So what's for dinner?"

"EEERGH!"

"I take it you're mad."

"Oh, yeah. I'm mad."

"Really mad?"

"Really mad."

"So...what's for dinner?"

_Stomp, stomp, stomp, BANG!_

"YEOW! Damn it, woman, I need that!"

"Shut up and stir!"

"Alright, alright. Anger management issues..."

OOO

A/N: I take it you can figure out who's who. If you can't, drop a review. Or drop one anyways, because me love reviews. This chapter was on a lighter tone, seeing as I've been torturing these characters for the past ten chapters or so.


	58. Yellow walls

_Yellow walls_

He's hanging out the window, staring at the stars. Thinking of her, missing her, wanting her.

_I need a drink._

He rubs his aching head and ponders what morning will be like. He's started to really hate mornings. He remembers the strumming of a guitar, the soft voice of a girl he loves.

He's stopped believing in tomorrow. Stopped putting hope in things that will never come true. All he can do is remember yesterday. He'd give anything to be back at that campfire. Her arm around his, guitar strings and heartstrings being strummed all at once.

He fancies she's on her way home right now.

He knows she's left him, though.

He wants to go and get her.

But he can't. He's lost his ride, and he's lost his will.

He wants to sleep, but his eyes are glued to that perfect midnight blue sky.

The walls of his...her...apartment are yellow. He's never really noticed that before. They look bright and cheery at this time of night, when it's too dark to see all their scratches and peeling paint.

He wonders if she didn't do it herself.

One thing is certain in his mind, however.

If he ever meets the man that stole her away...

He'll kill him.


	59. Road of bones

_Road of bones_

She had her ways, he admitted. Mostly because she was female. And he really, really...REALLY...disliked females.

It was a general rule of his, ever since SHE'D died, to stay away from members of the opposite sex. Mostly because they annoyed the hell out of him. I don't like this, I don't like that...They never seemed to stop complaining.

But for some reason, she was different. He hadn't minded her, because she seriously minded him. She must've thought by now that he was a) suicidal, or b) homicidal. Possibly both. And she had the most interesting way of pissing him off. Multiple ways, actually.

She drew him to her, then slapped him back. He had gotten pretty used to the pain by now; pain had never been an issue in his life. But the fact that, after all these months, she was still wary of him...gave him the chills. After all, he'd taken out her "boyfriend" for her. Wasn't that proof that he was on her side?

They were enemies no longer.

But the past has a strange way of hanging on to you, especially when your present is rather bleak, and your future is extremely groggy. You've got nothing better to do than look back and remember, sometimes with a smile, sometimes with a frown.

More often than not, he was frowning.

_Some will march on a road of bones, _

_and others will be nailed up on telephone poles. _

_That is the way it works._

Gah! Women. And root beer for dinner hadn't been as good as he thought it'd be.

OOO

A/N: Quote by Dr. Hunter S. Thompson


	60. Rats' alley

_Rats' alley_

He really didn't care what it took anymore. Some moments in his relatively sane life, he almost believed in his own dreams, almost escaped back to the wonderfully innocent world of his youth. But he was no longer young, and neither was she.

He was going to get her back, whether she liked it...or not. And she probably didn't like it.

But he was broke, and the stupid bartender wouldn't hire him anymore. Something about a recession, worker's wages going up, unions, that kind of thing.

So he would have to hitch a ride some other way.

He sat down on the public bench and stared at his feet for a few minutes and wondered if he still had his charm. He used to be a pretty good flirter, back in the day. No matter what his friends said, the girls just liked him. He was cool like that.

Did he care that he was in some pit of a town, with no one who even knew his name, counting himself?

His name had flitted away with the world in which it had belonged.

Some evenings, when twilight slipped into existence, and evening was still a minute away, he fancied she was here. Life would be normal, sans ship, sans friends, sans everything.

What was normal anymore? Waking up. Sleeping. Eating. The necessities of life are curses when there's nothing to enrich them. They felt like "had to do"s, less like...want to dos. Strange, how being alone can shift a life into reverse.

Did he miss the parties, the laughter, the teasing, the constant bonks on the back of his head?

In some strange way, he did.

He pulled his satchel further up his back and started for the bus stop. He'd have to hitch a ride out of this stinkin' patch of land. He missed the sky, and he missed his freedom.

But most of all, he missed her.

And as soon as he came across something pointy enough to get rid of the other man, he'd be in business.

Really.


	61. Swallowed in the sky

_Swallowed in the sky_

He had fallen asleep early. She didn't know what made him grow so tired...maybe it was stirring the tub full of sassafras and water for _five damn minutes_...but his eyelids began to droop, and soon, he was snoring. She could only roll her eyes, finish drinking her sassafras tea, then curl up next to the fire, her own arm a pillow for the evening.

Dreams didn't snake into her mind as often as they used to. Then again, neither did nightmares. But that night, her head was filled with memories again.

_Hey, who's there?_

_Me._

_Who's 'me'?_

_I'm here for something of mine. _

_Ah, you're here for that piece of the past, aren't you? I knew you'd come. Eventually.  
_

She knew that every living breath she drew with this man was a blessing in itself. He could kill her in an instant. But she'd never felt more alive since the days when she still had her youth. Something inside her needed to be filled. She'd tried everything known to man. Everything except trekking across the sky with her once greatest enemy.

She'd discovered a piece of her long buried heart. Somewhere, she'd found it again. And along the way, she had helped a broken man attempt to put himself together again. Maybe she still had a few more journeys to make. Home wasn't a place. Maybe home was a person.

Her eyelids fluttered open. It was dawn, gray and misty, hint of red in the distance where the sun was stretching its rays. He was already awake, the fire was up, and he was boiling water.

"Root beer, anyone?" And he smiled his signature smile. She didn't really know what to say, so she just smiled back.

Life played tricks on you, life deceived you, life tied you down and hurled you every which way.

But in the end, you got what you deserved.

Did she deserve him?


	62. Flowers on the freeway

_Flowers by the freeway_

**Roses don't grow where hearts are cold,  
****I'm finding my love so hard to hold,  
Seeing as you pull it 'way from me.**

He handed her a flower. She laughed. He laughed, too, because it was all one big joke to her. Sometimes, when the world felt far too insecure, he'd make her laugh, and things would steady themselves bit by bit.

**Baby, it ain't hard to see  
You and I are like earth and sky,  
So different that people wonder why  
We reach for each other, night and day,  
You're the flowers on my lonely freeway.**

And she still wondered why she pissed him off. Did all men feel this way when a woman that infuriated them was lovely as well? He was always, constantly, forever wondering why she didn't care. Strangest ways. But she never really knew him.

Watched her laugh.

She had a wonderful laugh.

**You live in heaven, I live in hell,****  
But perhaps sometimes that's just as well.****  
Did you know I used to hate you so,****  
Or were you always pure, never to show  
Your face in my land, your love in my hand?**

He felt like a total idiot. Total...idiot.

Thought about another girl who liked to laugh at his jokes. And they weren't even that funny.

Somewhere on a tall grass terra, marked with three flat stones and a pole of torn dreams, sat a man with raven hair and a girl with gold eyes. And the raven haired man handed the golden eyed girl a flower. But he was too busy watching her laugh to notice that she was burning as well, and that somewhere inside her was hidden a light that had not yet quite gone out.

**We reach for each other, night and day,  
You're the flowers on my lonely freeway.**

OOO

A/N: I wrote the sucky poetry.


	63. No man's land

_No man's land_

Something rumbled when the bus took off. Something really, really loud. He looked out the bug splattered window and watched three crafts streak past, trailing exhaust fumes. He really hated public transportation.

The driver had taken pity on him, but only after he explained who he was. So now he was sitting in the back of the bus, chewing on his own lip, clutching a patched satchel to his chest and frowning at how in the world he was supposed to deal with the two missing parts of his life.

He had no idea where to start looking for her, but he had a hunch where she'd want to go.

She'd want to visit their friends.

So he tells the driver to go north, a few vague coordinates, for he never was much of a navigator, and that's what the driver does. Kindness comes in the strangest of forms.

It's an overnight ride. He falls asleep eventually, head leaning painfully against the window, neck cramped. He's the only one in the entire vehicle. Not another passenger, just him and the driver, two people on a journey. One's doing it as a favor, the other one's doing it for vengeance, and for...

Well, maybe for love.

He's gotta think that one out a little bit longer.

She's more like a sister to him, anyways. After he found her holed up on that nasty piece of terra...Now that's when things swiveled back to the way they were a long time ago.

Besides, what would he do if she said yes to his offer? Would she seriously want to go home with him? He still wasn't sure why she chose an S.O.B over...him. That idiot she was with was responsible for the deaths of hundreds, maybe more. And final blows, no matter how long ago they had been dealt, never faded.

When he got up the next morning with a horrible headache, the driver shouted back if he wanted breakfast. He's hungry, but he doesn't want to impose on the driver's hospitality any more than he has to.

They arrive a small distance from the actual place, but he says this is fine, he'll find someone from here on out. He watches the bus glide on away, against the backdrop of golden earth and blue sky.

Pulls his satchel onto his back and marches to the tiny town. Maybe a willing "friend" will lend him a skimmer for the day. And if he can find a big rock, he can repay _someone _he knows with a lump on the head.

Awful lot of trouble to go to for someone who doesn't even really like him...

But his insane mind tells him it's worth it.


	64. On the terra, at night

_On a terra, at night_

Distant rumblings that sounded like thunder woke her from her nap. She had nodded off, sometime in the afternoon. She woke up to find that a light blanket was wrapped around her, snug around her shoulders. She shrugged it off and found her partner sitting next to the graves, mumbling soft words.

She could catch snatches of his sentences.

"...and would you believe it, all of a sudden, she shows up at my house for the necklace. And I'm pissed; I mean, you know me, don't you? Sure you do. So-"

He's seen her, and started to blush redder than a ripe strawberry in a snowfield.

"I brought-" _giggle _"-your blanket."

"Hm. I noticed."

"Thanks." She handed the fabric out. "I see you've made some new friends," she said, nodding at the markers.

"Well, we've got a couple years worth of catching up to do," he said, with an embarrassed shrug.

"Right." She yawns. "Wha' 'ime i' it?"

"About eight. Thirty. Three. And five seconds. Make that six."

She furrows her brow at him. She knows only a handful of people like him; grown men who act extremely childish at times, yet pull it off with a certain...grace about them.

The rumbling starts up again. He stands and faces the southern sky. It's clear as glass, not even a stray leaf to blemish the deepening blue and wisps of gray cloud. Evening is coming; a cluster of violet and flaming red clouds have gathered in the west, turning to shield a dying sun from the cruelties of twilight. The tall grass glows emerald. The flag is hanging loose, not a breeze to be named, and the entire terra seems like a picture from some book.

She leaned against the flagpole and stared into the sunset. Mindless blither filled her mind.

She watched him walk across the terra and search for the source of the rumbling. Watched him glance at her, then quickly look away again.

Was it a stupid thing, to wish for love at a time like this?


	65. I do have a name

_I do have a name_

To date, she's never called him anything but the name she's used to hearing.

And he's just never called her by her name period.

Sometimes it's as if they never reconciled.

Sometimes it's as if he never changed.

And she still tells herself he's a new man, still tells herself that the black pit in his soul is filled with something different, that he's grown, changed. Years flow by, and he's been washed clean of the past. She tells herself these things because she knows that they're not true, and a foundation of lies is never a good thing when love is part of the equation.

She doesn't know what love is like, and cannot compare this experience to anything else she's ever felt. The cold hands of a dying friend, the red cheeks of a blushing partner, they don't count. And although she's admired many a man during her lifetime, she's never gotten to the point where her mind can only find them.

The little show her partner's been putting on for her is amusing. She knows that he regrets his decisions, but that doesn't mean he'll go back on them. And she knows he'll always love the woman who is now a field of violets.

Does she remember the aching moments when she snatched that necklace from his home and ran into the sky, nothing but a thief, nothing but a shadow?

Guilt had ridden her heart like a burr, never to let go unless she used some force.

And yet, still, she thought that if she ran fast enough, the burr would fall away.

Would it follow her to the end?

_I watch you, and you don't notice. I wonder what it's like to have two hearts inside one chest, two paths that you're constantly having to choose from. I know you're good inside. I know that you're not pitiless. The rants about 'No mercy' are in the past now. And I watch you smile at some unknown joke. It's a silly thing, but I feel like I know you._

_Do you know me?_

He stands. He's finished packing. He gestures at her.

"We're moving out, girl. It's time for YOU..." He points at her with a gloved finger, and she traces the line of his arm with her eyes. Eyes the color of a dying sun. "...to go back."

She doesn't protest. Not out loud.

And even if she had, it would not have been about leaving this place. She longed to grab him by the shoulders, stare into his eyes, and swear she had a name.

She'd been nameless for a long time, and homeless for even longer.

Maybe the roots to which she clung had shriveled and died a long time ago, but it couldn't hurt to wish for someone to whisper her name with love, just as a boy with red hair had done long ago.


	66. Deception

_Deception_

The terra was a silent place after the two living souls left it.

If you were a bird, flying across the northern skies of Atmos, you'd have seen a large red dot take off from an emerald coated piece of land. You'd have seen the dot swerve for the west, towards the dust covered terrae that saw nothing but sun and moon all the livelong day. Perhaps you would've noted the small breezes that buffeted the craft.

And you would have noticed the two shapes aboard the skimmer, one clinging to the other, the other clinging to his ride. You would've smelled the burning odor of an old and tired engine.

Perhaps a whiff of sweat and tears. A tinge of regret. Something like sorrow. An expression on the face of the man that some would call bitterness, but only if you didn't know him.

If you knew him, you'd call it remorse.

And the girl wore a blank expression that only heaven knew what it meant.

Perhaps, if you flew higher, more to the south, you'd have seen a black skimmer taking off from a sandy terra, trailing blue. Another man, but only one, upon the seat.

Golden hair like the rays of a sun fluttering in the wind.

And upon his face, an expression that, no matter who you were, you'd have called vengeance.

Sanguine was a word you'd use to describe the climate, but the people moving about that day were anything but. And a darkness that flooded the blue skies could not be described in words.

Spread your wings and fly. Be glad you have the power to choose where you go.

Not everyone has that luxury.

Pity us humans.

We are forever grounded, no matter how high we manage to climb.


	67. Downpour

_Downpour_

It started to rain again. They landed at a small wayside terra, again. And once more, someone was there to greet them.

"Been looking for you. Both of you."

His blond hair hung around his face in wet strands, plastered to his scalp like someone had spread modge podge over it. He had a half smile playing on his wet lips. He had mud up to his knees, looked sun weathered and wind battered. He'd been traveling, that was for sure; even had a travel satchel on his back. He leaned against a black skimmer, stolen no doubt, and had a package of some sort strapped to the back of his ride. His entire self was drenched. She wondered how long he'd been here. Felt that same surge of guilt, but it faded quickly.

Her companion, however, merely shrugged. "I'm going inside."

"STOP!"

He stopped, alright. Turned around, black hair sagging in the rain. He reached up for his sword, and the other man picked up his package. She skidded between them, mud spraying up onto her face.

"What the hell do you two think you're doing?"

"What I should've done a long time ago," her friend growled. He shoved her aside. "This doesn't have anything to do with you."

"It's got everything to do with her, doesn't it, boy?" Red eyes sparkled in the wet. "You want her, take her. She isn't mine."

The girl sighed. _You have no idea._

The blond haired boy threw his head back and laughed. "She's a friend, man. You're an enemy. That's all there is to it."

"You still looking at the world in black and white, then?" And it was the older man's turn to laugh. "Hey, I thought you were naive, but this is pushing it, even for you."

There was a dull silence, broken by the sound of rain splitting mud and heavy breathing. The air was the color of white breath on a cold winter day, and the girl's eyes split the gray with a clarity that few had the power to do.

The boy struck first, pulling from his packet a weapon, and the girl could only shake her head, because recognition was a curse that befell her as soon as the blades were drawn.

Why did the past have to revisit?

And all she could say was, "How could you?"


	68. Grave robber

_Grave robber_

He had watched them take off, but he knew a detour, and ideas had struck him like lightning on trees.

He landed on the emerald terra briskly. Walked over to the graves, knelt before the final one, and touched the stone. Muttered a quiet apology. Then got out a shovel he'd nicked, and began to dig.

Something told him this was right.

Something told him this was worth it.

Every now and again, he broke out laughing.

But he swore he wasn't drunk...

Finally, he hit wood, and knew he was close. Of course the coffin would not be disturbed. What he was looking for was above timber, but below clay. Finally, when he heard the chink of metal against metal, clear as the horn on a soon to come judgment day, he fell to his knees and started to claw at the dirt. Found his prize and took out the steel blades, let them catch the light.

Was this wrong? No. No, it wasn't. These blades failed to fell their target before, but today, they'd do their job. He wrapped them in an old jacket and strapped it to the back of his skimmer. Refilled the hole and touched the new mound of freshly churned clay.

Would the steel finally find its mark?

Maybe he had finally hit the edge.

But that man deserved to die, and die he would.


	69. Mud splattered

_Mud-splattered_

The two men circled each other, and the girl stood on the side, trying to push them apart with arms and words. She had no idea how to stop this, had never gotten between fights like this before.

And when she saw the two blades clutched in her friend's hands, she knew it was too late for all three of them, that they'd started down a road that had no U-turns.

The battle began, a fury of mud. Blue clashed with red once more. The older man was fighting reluctantly; his arms were not taut with vigor, nor were his eyes burning with anger. He seemed to be holding back. But the younger one was aggressive, swinging his blades with inexperienced force.

She was screaming for someone to come and stop the two idiots in front of her, but no one replied. They were all alone on an abandoned terra, where there was more edge than there was earth.

The raven haired man suddenly stopped. Stopped fighting, stopped leering. Waved his sword around.

"You seriously want to do this?"

The younger one just roared and charged, knocked the weapon out of his adversary's hand. Pressed the point of his blade to his enemy's throat.

"Leave him alone!"

But he was no longer listening to the girl's screams. They faded. It was just him and he. He and him.

The rain pounded a rhythm he'd never forget, for as long as he lived.

_home, home, home, home, home..._

And yet he did not listen, for his mind was too far gone for him to know anything other than the girl beside him and the enemy in front of him.

_Home._


	70. Rain on my parade

_Rain on my parade_

Listening to the rain.

_Hiss, hiss, hiss, hiss, hiss..._

Was it trying to tell them something? Was it sending a message? Twilight was still a stretch of clouds away, but the skies were already darkening, and not because of the storm.

Everyone's hair was pasted flat to their heads. Lids to the person within. And a man with a blade to another man's throat heard but one word in the storm.

_Home, home, home, home, home..._

The girl was his home. She was his constant. He'd do anything for her...even kill.

And yet, all the girl could feel for him was despair. He was so blind, so stupidly in love, that he was risking everything. His future, if he ever had a future, was ruined. And here he stood, with a pair of daggers that were not his, clutched in sweaty, rain streaked palms, salty tears mingling with the water from heaven.

And the words the girl heard were of hope.

_Please no, please no, please no, please no, please no..._

And something in the back of her mind was forcing her to choose. Choose between the two souls in front of her, one bitter, the other one regretful, both of them shells of people they used to be. They rarely smiled anymore, and when they did, it was just the mouth tilting upwards. And a mouth tilting upwards is a painting, a deception.

Cold metal to his throat was nothing new for the man pressed to the wall. You could almost say he was familiar with the sensation.

The rain said nothing to him, just drummed into his skull with the beating of his heart. Did he still wonder why life was worth living? Was he still angry at the world?

Yes.

No.

_Plop, plip, plop, plip, tomorrow, plip, plop, tomorrow, plip, plop, due to be, plip, home..._

The boy in front of him had the coldest pair of eyes he'd ever seen.

Drilled into him. Surprisingly...

They reminded him of snow.


	71. FLASH

_FLASH_

She wasn't sure what name to give the emotion she felt, when her friend put the blade down.

Relief was far too small a word for the well of warmth that flooded back into her body.

How could she have thought he was a murderer?

The man with raven hair slid away from the wall, brushed the mud off his arms, and gave a slight nod at the boy, who was smiling for some reason. A large, fake looking smile, plastered to his face, as if the rain had glued it there. She walked over to him and grabbed his arm.

"Let's go. Come on."

**FLASH.**

A blur of blue. A sudden burst of pain, radiating from her head. The feeling of cold mud, inching into her fingernails, her hair, her clothing, squishing against her cheek. Was she on the ground? Was she dead? What was that warm, sweet smelling liquid streaming down her face?

**FLASH.**

A collision of red in the distance. No, she wasn't dead. Someone, screaming, something that wrenched her heart out. More than just pain, more than just physical harm. Someone had been torn open from the inside. She didn't want to look, but had to, tried raising her head, but lights danced in front of her.

**FLASH.**

An arm at her neck, and cold metal to her jaw. Looked up, expected blazing red to be glaring her down, thought of how stupid she'd been to actually trust the man, even let him take care of her all those weeks. But those thoughts of self punishment fizzed away when she saw cold hard blue drilling into her instead, framed by a ring of very wet gold.

**FLASH.**

A trickle of silver and red in the corner of her eye. Another blade, and this one was coated in warmth and life. Someone else's. And she remembered who was missing from the picture. A million questions in her head, but only one came to fruition.

"Why?"

**FLASH.**

He drew blood from her throat. "You chose him?" was the bitter reply. "Why him? He killed them, killed every single one of them, and he was never there for you. I was the one who found you, _I _was the one who saved you, _I_, _I_, _I_!" Was he crying, maybe he was, was she crying, she didn't think so, the saltiness streaking down her face was the blood, she was certain of it, why should she cry? Her friend had killed a man.

**FLASH.**

A moan in the distance. Not dead yet. A shadow that painfully drew itself across her face and her attacker's blade.

Wasn't life a bitch?

OOO

A/N: On a technical note, has anyone else been missing alert e-mails from lately? I just haven't gotten a single one.


	72. Lilac wine

_Lilac wine_

It wasn't too long ago, he concludes.

Death tended not to faze him. It never had.

The last time he held a woman's body in his arms, it hadn't been under the most wonderful circumstances. After all, how wonderful can a final dance be? But he's never forgotten, never shall. For a soldier, he's pretty good at handling females, despite his initial dislike of them.

So now he holds the injured body and broken heart of a girl with dark skin in his arms. And he ponders why he feels so guilty, even though he swore he had no feelings for the girl.

Whatever.

Pain's drilling into his skull, begging for release in the form of some noise or movement, but he's too proud to do anything like that. Just leans against the wet wall of a run down building, inhales the smell of wet cement, and grits his teeth. His arm is oozing blood, coming out in ribbons and wrapping around him like bows on a present. Where's the present going?

He doesn't really know.

She fainted. Her neck is cut, and he thinks she might've sprained something, but other than that, it's just the fact that she's bloody unconscious and he's fucking wounded that worries him. Plus the fact that the boy was gone.

This had to happen sooner or later, so stop acting so damn surprised.

He realizes that he needs a drink, but there's not a decent drink to be seen for miles yet, and the sky's still grayer than the ass of an elephant. Rain's dripping onto his head, annoying him, bothering him. But the building's got a leaky roof; he can tell just by looking at it. And he doesn't feel like moving.

Maybe he'll just bleed to death. He thinks that might be a pleasant way to go. Quietly. No sparks flashing, no metal clanging, just the sound of rain and the drum drum of another person's heart.


	73. Sunshine

_Sunshine_

You were the first face I saw when I woke up. Were you asleep, or were you dead? I did wonder, for a moment. There was far too much blood for you to be alive, but far too much movement for you to be dead.

Little grunts, and I swear you're toying with me, it's just tomato juice.

Ankle hurts more than the truth.

I pull myself over; you mumble something about fuckin' bleeding ta death. I frown. I've got nothing to save you with this time except a heart full of worry and a head full of good intentions, and don't get me wrong, I don't mind worrying over you, it's the fact that I never learned how to stop a heart from pumping itself dry with intentions.

The rain's beginning to fiddle and trickle away/ Is that a good thing/ I'm no longer thinking in sentences/ Just bursts of thought/ Do I dare take your shirt off/ I don't think you'd mind if you lived/

_Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiip._

Shit that was loud. Oh, good I know how to think again. I'm shocked you haven't gotten up yet. Is this a dream?

I don't see him. He's not here. Maybe he's left, because that dreaded black skimmer's gone, too. He would've killed me. Did you pull him off me? Did you save my life again? Is it my turn to save yours?

Is this unusual?

Maybe.

You're still asleep. The fabric was pretty weak anyways. I'm not strong, I don't take this for granted. Your armor's hard to take off, seeing as you're a damn dead weight and I can't get my head around the fact that I'm actually trying to get it off in the first place. But as soon as it is gone, and lying in the mud a distance away, I can see how bad the wound actually is. It's deep, blood's everywhere, there's a smudge of it on your cheek, but I think that's mine. The rain's starting to wash it off, what's left of the rain anyhow. I think we're all alone in the world today.

Is this a blur? My fingers move by themselves. I'm not thinking straight. Maybe I did love you, once upon a time. Good thing you can't hear my thoughts. You'd have killed me a long time back, if you were in my head.

Your skin's so damn cold.

Don't die on me now.

At least wake up in time to see the sun come out.

Do you remember playing guitar in front of a blazing fire, watching the sparks fly away? Will you wake up and play for me, and only me, just tonight? Do you remember watching me smile, watching me steal the necklace?

And what of the creeping sensation we both got that time we met, in a hotel room on a backwater terra in the middle of the sky?


	74. The final equation

_The final equation  
_

He opened his eyes to midnight blue and to midnight skies.

She was asleep, her shoulder rising and falling. Injured ankle propped up on a rock.

His shoulder itched. He turned to look at it, could catch a glimpse of red and green. Realized she'd ripped his sleeve off, then put it back on again, just in a different...fashion. He tries to move, then finds out that movement equals pain. So he lies still for about five seconds, then tries moving again.

Never was one for patience.

--lapses in thought--

She moves. Opens her eyes. Turns towards him and frowns.

"Shit, you're not dead."

He raises a dark eyebrow at his sleeve. "You seriously did that?"

"No. Leprechauns sprang up from the earth and fixed you, while I leaned back and had a vodka martini." She yawned.

He grits his teeth and stands. Walks over to the edge of the terra and stares at the dark sky. Counts the minutes to sunrise. What was the point anyhow? He could just jump off, it wouldn't make the slightest bit of difference. She'd forget him in days, and he doesn't care much for her. At least, that's what he tells himself.

She limps over; he hears the irregular footsteps.

--lapses in time--

Her first question. He thinks it's a new record, the distance between inquiries.

"Where is he?"

The one he's been expecting, but he answers reluctantly all the same. He has the response prepared, touching the tip of his tongue, has been rehearsing it since before the darkness came. But the rehearsed lines don't make it, the preparation for shock, none of the subtleties he tried so hard to conjure. He never was one for emotional phrases and thoughtful words.

"He's dead."

And she says no words, because no words are necessary.


	75. Fairytale

_Fairytale  
_

She stayed by herself, standing alone on the terra's edge, as he'd seen her hundreds of times.

He wasn't too sure what to tell her about the death of her friend. Maybe it was all just a dream, anyways.

He had gone into the run down building and looked around. Nothing to report but a moth ridden cot, wind battered roof, and a tiny cabinet with nothing inside but dust and mold. But the cot had a mattress, a place to sleep. He pulled out the blanket from his skimmer and tossed it over the bed, then went back outside to check on her.

She was sitting and slumped. He thought she might've been crying, but she was just asleep. Was it bad for him to wake her?

Did he dare?

He decided to take her inside, even if it meant touching her again, maybe even straining his shoulder.

Cup her head in one hand, slide her waist into your other. She feels weak, tired, but she doesn't even wake. Grunts from the fact that his shoulder hurts like hell, and hell is one place he's already been and doesn't want to go back to.

Sets her down on the bed and plops down against the wall opposite. Tries to sleep but can only watch her. What is it that makes him want to hate her yet want to care for her all at once? Was it that striking resemblance between her and another?

Was he just dreaming? She was no damsel in distress, no lost princess. She could take care of herself, he knew that. But she had a small vulnerability, and that was her compassion. Her good heart. She didn't pause to think that maybe, some people couldn't change. He wasn't about to change for anyone, or anything. He looked at her with soft eyes, not because he felt different, but because he felt truly sorry for her.

Sooner or later, she'd have to realize that life was a chain of "Once upon a times", but rarely ever any "Happily ever afters."

If she wanted a fairytale finish, he was not the guy to be hanging with.


	76. Phoenix rising

_Phoenix rising_

They sat across from each other, the fire a barrier in between, easy enough to walk around. But only if you talk in the sense of all things physical.

_crrrrackle, pop, singe, flip, flick, ssssssst, ssssssilk_

Fire sings. She gazes into it, he gazes at the earth beneath it, burning, turning black. Had you been there, you would have known, but you were not, so you do not understand. Because it was silly in the first place. And you would've seen the black sky broken by golden sparks, carnelian and red eyes, and the blare of dying embers . Maybe you were drunk at the time, too weighted down by your own insanity.

Were they thinking of a day when they still had dignity and a home?

Do they remember the black cave dripping with liquid and littered with bones? A boy with red hair and a dog with blue. A bird with fire feathers and a crystal with golden fringes and a claw of stone. A whip that tangled around prizes that neither deserved, only wanted because it was a game to all of them.

Do they remember the flaming sky and the fire on all their tails? The take-off and the landing, the start and the ending, the tournament of talent that was wasted on plays and dog fights that only surmounted to one going home and the other staying put. They knew not the meaning of death then, and could barely comprehend life.

And love? Love was a word they felt they understood but knew nothing of.

Golden eyes sparkled as they turned up and met red. He only looked at her for a few moments, then let his vision blur and seemed to see through her, could imagine the sky without her outline scarring it.

Fire bore the memories of a flaming bird and a time when laughter was a wasted resource. So hard to find nowadays, no one sells it anymore, and the price they pay for it is high.

Dare she run from the one she wants? Or does she only want him for now? Does she bother with the thinking anymore?

_You wanted danger, girl. You've got it. Now what? Have you grown to care for him? He killed your friend who was not a friend but thought he was and you almost loved him. Almost, but then he went and fell of a terra side. Fuck him._

Fuck 'em all.


	77. Could i be

_Could i be_

Morning is a curse.

And night is beautiful.

Yet she knows what she wants.

Because it's never easy, letting go.

Every time she finds something to care about, she never releases.

**(compassionate. just compassionate. too good for a bastard)**

Inside her head, she has a million ways to stay on the path she's chosen. The other roads are tempting, though.

**(was it a mistake?)**

Later, she'll tell him.

Or not.

Very soon, she concludes.

Even now.

Dare she, dare she, dare she?

**(maybe it's just because she likes darkness)**

Youth flitted away from her. She wasted it with her friends. They all did.

Over, over, over and over still, she made the same mistakes.

Understand this: she managed to see the good in everyone. And if no good was there...she made it up.

**(she hid herself, just like she hid his messages. due to be home was scattered. her whole life was a puzzle)**


	78. You remind me

_You remind me_

She had a certain air that he breathed in whenever he looked at her.

She had a certain way of being that he mimicked whenever they were together.

Something about her that made him want to calm down, breathe, relax, be human for a moment or two. Sometimes he wanted to talk to her in a way she could comprehend, perhaps appreciate.

She was fixing his skimmer, surprisingly. He knew he should be doing it, but she insisted he stay down. He knew she just wanted something to put a damper on her boredom. But he couldn't fly, not with his shoulder in a half unfastened state. So he watched her tinker with the crystals and screw in bolts.

He remembered watching his master work on dark nights, while she addressed him and two others. She had a way with crystals, a way to manipulate them. She manipulated everything she touched, even her own servants, even him. In the end, life was one big game to win, one big battle to fight. She never leaned back and listened to the music, not until it was too late for anything she did to count.

_Tip-toe through the darkness and find the light. _

_Slide the cap onto the lens and look into night._

_Watch me breathe._

_I am alive,_

_and I am well._


	79. On a starless night

_On a starless night_

His shoulder was healing, slowly. He was trying to not move and calm down as much as possible, which was hard for him. She, on the other had, moved around as much as possible, trying to find something to do, even patching the roof on the building. He rolled his eyes and stared into the sky, as he always did. There's not much to look at on this terra, except for dusty earth, crumbling stone, and a girl with amber eyes.

It's a cloudy night, not a star to be seen. Not even a moon to look at. Just dark clouds. He thinks it might be a coming storm, but he can't smell the humidity, or the tingle of electricity.

She was wiping her hands on her pants, then coming over to sit next to him, the last of the stale bread she found in his skimmer in her hands. She broke it in half and handed him the larger piece.

He looked at it, then looked at her.

"Here," she said. "What, you've never seen food before?"

"It's big," he stated.

"Yes, I did that on purpose. You're healing."

"But you're doing all the work."

"Just eat it, or I'll take the skimmer and leave you here."

She had a point. He took the bread. Bit and chewed slowly, letting it soften before swallowing. The last thing he needed was a lacerated stomach. She watched him eat, as if he were some kind of foreign entity, before wolfing down her own piece.

She thinks she knows who he is. She thinks she loves him, but she doesn't even know the meaning of the word.

Oh, well.

He'll leave the girl to her own confused emotions. He's got himself to take care of.


	80. Conversation

_Conversation_

It was dawn. He was already awake, and so when she pulled herself up from the moth torn mattress, she opened her eyes to an empty building.

He was outside, kicking up dust with his steel toed boots. Her leather ones pattered up next to him. He kept his eyes half open, seeing but not registering what they saw. That was his secret to fearlessness, to having a gut of iron. See the eyes, see the people you're killing, but don't take it in. Don't let your brain take over.

That was how he had been able to slay his own team members, how he'd been able to fight a fourteen year old and not be fazed in the slightest. Touch not on the subject of emotion. War is an emotionless, brutal, bloodcurdling thing.

"Do you regret it?" Her question startled him. Damn that, he should've been used to her constant inquiries by now.

"Regret what?"

"Killing your team." It was as if she could read his mind. He sighed, ran his fingers through his hair, then glared at her with those penetrating eyes of his.

"Woman, you need to mind your own business."

"Oh my...god." She laughed. "You called me 'woman'. It's always, 'girl this', 'girl that'. 'Girl, go get me my wrench.' 'Girl, stop being so damn naive.' And now, you say 'woman'!" She slapped her knee. "You really are insecure!"

"Have you been concealing coffee from me?" he asked, with a raised eyebrow. "Or...or sugar? Or...drugs?"

"Just answer the damn question."

He paused. He hadn't really expected this line of attack: piss him off, then drill the question at him again. Oh, this girl was good.

"Sometimes. When I see how low I've fallen, yes, I think that maybe, if I hadn't killed them, I'd be a regular man, with friends, maybe a wife and kids..."

"You're joking, right?"

"Yes." He smirked at her. "No, I don't regret it. The only thing I regret about that day is...maybe...not killing my Sky Knight before he had a son. You know, so that I wouldn't have had to fight with your friend."

"In what way? That's...that's confusing. So you don't regret it."

"No. Or else I wouldn't have met certain people. Certain...A certain...Well. And, I wouldn't have met you."

"Isn't that a bad thing? Meeting me?"

"I dunno. You've saved my ass several times. Could turn out to be good for me, after all. Although, on the dark side of all this, there is the ever annoying fact that you're an ex-Storm Hawk."

"You are, too."

"Me? I was never a Storm Hawk. By title, yes. But my soul? My soul belonged to Cyclonia, and that's the way it was, the way it always will be. I was never like you."

"You were never young? You never had big dreams? You never, I dunno, did something you knew you shouldn't, but did it just because you knew it'd be fun?" She grinned. "Maybe I'm still a kid, but I really don't care. You should realize that once upon a time, you were young."

"Yes, I was. But I felt like it was a stupid age, and I couldn't wait to get out of it."

"Right. That's what you say. You keep telling yourself that."

And then she grinned that infuriating grin of hers.


	81. Grow up!

_Grow up  
_

"How old are you?"

"Will you stop with the questions?" He looks at her from behind his skimmer. A delicate shrug of delicate shoulders is the only answer she gives.

"Do I have to repeat myself?"

"No. I heard you the first time. I'm not senile." He sighed. "Yet."

She laughs. He hates it when she laughs. He doesn't like her laughter; it's too damn bubbly. And...nice sounding. He's a man who loves the shadows, who relishes night more than anything, who appreciates the dark and everything that goes with it. He liked the dark hisses and malicious cackles of his former home and current memory. So whenever she tries to shed some light on a heart that beats only to the rhythms of black, it burns more than he can ever admit.

"Seriously. How old are you?"

"Ah, the age old question. No pun intended." He grunts as he screws in a final bolt on his weather torn skimmer. Prays it'll work. His shoulder no longer screams at him; he's changed the dressings and sees nothing but a ribbon of pink running across his skin.

"Well, in case you were wondering, I'm twenty three." She sits down next to him.

"I wasn't wondering, but that's good to know." He snickered.

"What are you snickering at? What...I..." She stood and marched away, but could not resist turning around and tossing a final raspberry at him.

He stands and glares at her back. "For a twenty three year old, you sure act like a baby!"

"I'll stop when you tell me how old you are!" She stops walking and turns around, coquettish smile on her face.

"Oh. My. God," he intones. "You just don't give up, do you?"

"No, not really." And then she thumbs her nose at him. _Oh, the indignity._

"Well, I'll make you figure it out. I was twenty eight when I first came across your little team, and that was..." He rolls his eyes and makes a few mental calculations. "Seven years ago."

"You're thirty five? Damn, you _are _senile."

"Shut up."

"Men your age should be in wheelchairs drinking from hip flasks and peeing into bags."

"Mental images, not needed." He ushers her into the house. "Stay there and let me finish up on the skimmer, and then we can leave this damn terra." She pouts but complies; he marches out of the building, kneels at his skimmer, and commences with scraping rust buildup on the pipes and tubes. She's such a child. He hates that. He would appreciate a little more maturity; he'd expect, after five years of roughing it alone, that she'd grow up a bit.

But it was a futile wish, and he was stuck with her anyways, so he might as well make the best of it.


	82. Falling

_Falling_

She didn't know why she had these sudden irrepressible urges to laugh and be laughed at. Maybe, deep inside, she was trying to block out the thoughts of sorrow, trying to forget the death of her friend.

She really was the last one now; there was no longer such a thing as the Storm Hawks. The name had become a part of history, those two words becoming just words that signaled the ending of the war.

So had begun an age of peace, an age that would not be recorded for its battles and acts of heroism, but for the lull and tranquility. No one would remember the Sky Knights who gave their youth and their souls to fighting darkness. No one would recall those average civilians who couldn't seem to settle down, wanderlust and adventure embedded so deeply into their hearts that they could never be normal.

She was one of those people, and she fancied her companion was, too. Much as he hated to admit it, they clicked pretty easily. She reminded him of another girl who fancied crystals and had a lust for living as she pleased. And he reminded her of the days when she still had her freedom and her friends. He was very similar to the Sky Knight he once hated.

_I won't change for anyone, girl._

He wouldn't. No matter how much she cared for him, no matter how deep she fell for him, he'd never shift into a different gear. Because, firstly, he'd never be able to love her. Not in the way she wanted him to. She snorted in disgust at herself. This was never supposed to happen. But she should've been able to diagnose the problem as soon as it emerged.

She couldn't be young forever.


	83. Count the days

_Count the days_

He said he'd take her home the next morning. She asked him what home was. He just shrugged and told her it was wherever she wanted it to be. She sighed and forced her tongue into place.

Home was where _he_ was.

But he'd never figure that out himself, and she'd never tell him.

What the hey.

She'd just bottle herself up forever.

How bad could things get?

They sat side by side that evening. Both stared into the fire and listened to their guts rumble. Rain water had kept them hydrated, even though they were suspicious as to what was in it. Ah, well. Water was water was water. Men were men were men.

She would never understand a man like him.

Men like him were never meant to be understood.

_"Do you remember, did you dismember, my he-a-a-a-a-rt..."_

She remembered, faintly, the calender that hung on her bedroom wall. Large red X-es drawn with a near dry marker. A man barging through her door in a puff of dust and the clang of steel, sweat dripping down his face, eyes scratching lines across her heart with his glares.

She looks at him, at that sharply angled face lit up by fire. She longs to touch him, to lean against him, to feel his touch on her skin. Dare she? She'll count the days for the rest of her life, count them until her mind strokes infinity. It's impossible, she knows. Her whole life is impossible. _He_'s impossible.


	84. Shadow of the day

_Shadow of the day_

He cupped the water in his hands and splashed it onto his face.

Stepped into the rosy dawn and watched the sun rise, then peeked back into his house to watch her sleep. He liked doing the latter more.

Her slim body rose and fell with every breath. A lock of midnight blue hair had fallen over her face, so whenever she breathed out, it fluttered gently, swaying back and forth. He repressed the urge to brush it aside, satisfying himself with sitting next to her on the bed and letting his eyes wander across her subtly beautiful features.

His shoulder had stopped aching with every movement. He could pilot a skimmer, no problem. As soon as she got up.

Somewhere in the distance, crickets chirped. He let the sounds penetrate his mind. Looking outside again, watching the sky paint itself millions of colors, from violet to red to gold, his heart did a little squeeze.

She mumbled in her sleep. He felt humbled. She turned, her arm draping casually over the side of the cot. He was moved beyond comprehension.

So this was what love was. Funny, it felt foreign to him. He fancied he may have felt it before. No, not fancied, he was convinced. He could've sworn he'd loved the other girl, the other woman in his life. But with her, it may have just been obsession, delusion, lies.

He wanted her. He needed her. This funny, quirky, annoying, bitchy little shape that lay before him. She knew not what was inside his heart, his soul. He knew she had a funny thing for him, a thing he had no name for. Did that mean she loved him, too?

The word was foreign inside him. Love. He knew what it meant in a dictionary definition sort of way.

But feeling it? It hurt and healed all at once. It killed and revived. He pushed her away and pulled her towards him in one fluid movement.

Her golden eyes battered open. "Morning," she said, so sweetly he swore his brain melted.

"Morning," he replied. A shadow flitted across his face, so quickly she almost didn't notice.

Almost.


	85. Finality

_Finality_

He was waiting near his skimmer as she stepped out of the house. One last glance at the quiet little terra where they both almost died. Where her heart had found the answer to every question she ever asked herself.

"Ready to go home?" he asked her.

"No," she mumbled. "No, not really."

"Come on. Get on." He gestured towards the seat.

She sighed and almost sat, but she couldn't. She looked at his face, that familiar, darkened face. So strange. How could she ever have hated a face like that? It was so in pain.

"Move," he growled.

"If you're so anxious to get rid of you, why don't you just push me off the edge?" she barked. The anger welled up from unknown place. "You know, for a moment there, I thought you'd changed. I thought you'd become someone else. But no, your heart's just as black as it ever was."

He growled something unintelligible, then reached out and grabbed her by the shirt. He pulled her up to him, their faces only a few inches apart. And he slowly closed the distance.

She smelled the sun on him, smelled the rain, the dry and crusty blood on his shirt. The sweat and dirt, the musty water, the stale bread, and something else. Care. His hold on her was not forceful, but protective. His other hand flew up and caressed the arch of her face.

"You know _nothing..._of my heart," he whispered. His red eyes pierced hers.

He leaned forward and grazed her lips with his. Just a light brush, but it sent shivers down her spine. Her arm flew up and stroked his injured shoulder for a moment. He frowned.

Then he let go of her and stormed back to the house, footsteps echoing a rhythm she'd remember for as long as she lived.


	86. Someday never comes

_Someday never comes_

They stayed one final night. They did not talk until the stars had sprinkled the sky again.

And even then, it was only a few words.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"What for?" he asked.

"For everything," she said. "But I know I lo-"

He cut her off with a cough. He would not let her say that word. And he didn't say it either. But when they stood and started for the house, he suddenly stepped in front of her. She saw that one word that he would not say written all over him. It was enough. Better than anything else.

He slept outside, and she slept on the cot. And she thought this over.

He would not settle down with her, that was for certain. So what would they do? Follow each other around Atmos until they died?

No. He'd never change. He'd always be that ruthless Talon commander, no matter what he felt for her. So one final question, the final one that would ever surface in her mind and rid her of sleep, had to be answered.

Was it worth it?

And her answer came almost immediately.


	87. Final goodbye

_Final goodbye_

They flew together to a tiny terra, close to hers. And again, no words were spoken.

It wasn't awkward, it wasn't dangerous, it wasn't even embarrassment. It was just unnecessary. They landed. He watched her dismount with gentle eyes. He was wondering, she knew. Wondering where they'd go from here.

The terra was, of course, empty. Just another old building, although this one was rather more intact. But she had chosen it because more populated terras were only a skip and a holler away. Their lights pulsed softly in a not so distant distance. You could reach it with a pair of jet wings, which he had.

She left early the next morning, while he was still asleep. She took his skimmer and did not look back.

She paid a visit to several places, before flying back to the dry terra where she'd started off in the first place.

She left him one final puzzle.

She left him one final goodbye.


	88. Answers at last

_Answers at last_

He got up to exactly what he expected he'd get up to.

Emptiness.

He'd heard the skimmer engine during the dawn. He hadn't gotten up. He hadn't stopped her. He knew her choice was the right one; after all, what was the point?

So he loved her. So she loved him. So what?

His insides rebelled against his mind's decision. His heart wouldn't accept it. He almost threw up over the terra-side. Instead, he activated his jet wings and flew to the nearest terra, "commandeered" a skimmer, and flew back to his house.

It was a three hour flight. But it flashed by in moments.

He landed.

He walked up to the door and saw a piece of paper, nailed to it. She'd been here. And written on the paper was just one word.

**IT**.

And he knew it was one final puzzle. He chuckled. He knew where the next piece was. The place where all pieces had been scattered. He took the paper, then jumped back on the skimmer.

The violet terra burst into view. He landed, and he smiled. There, weighed down by a rock, was another piece of paper. And on it was written another word.

**ENDS.**

But she wouldn't have stopped there. Now, forward to the palace. He flew on. Sure enough, another paper, this time stuffed between the cracks in the floor of the throne room.

**WITH.**

More, still? He flew on, mind swirling as to what the final word would be. Only one more possible spot left. He flew for it.


	89. The end

_The end_

His hands trembled as he landed on that terra. That cursed, beautiful, wretched, blessed terra. He walked into the rundown building and saw, on the cot, something that flashed and glimmered. Her necklace. Ha, typical her.

And of course, another sheet of paper.

**HOME. It ends with us. It ends with love. And remember this:**

The next words made him smile and cry all at once. He sat down on the bed and read them with watering eyes. He let the paper flutter to the ground, and only heaven saw those words. Only he, heaven, and her.

**I am yours.**


	90. Shadows of light

_Shadows of light_

She sat at the bar, but did not drink. Just held a glass that was still full of amber liquid, the color of her eyes. She stared out the window, at the people who passed by, laughing. Soon, as the hours faded into night, they dispersed.

It was just her and a few other customers. She turned back to face the bartender. The door bell tinkled. She didn't look up.

Life had been kind to her, after all.

Just a few odd jobs.

But she was happy.

She still had wanderlust. But only on the inside. Physically, she was satisfied with where she was. Save one thing:

She was not sure if he had ever understood her message. Maybe, maybe...

She'd never know.

The glass remained filled. She just reached into her pocket anyways, pulling out a few coins. The bartender smiled.

"Sorry, ma'am. I was told not to let you know, but a gentleman already paid for your drink."

"Really?" Her eyebrows shot up. "Who was he?"

"Dunno, but he left a note." The bartender handed it to her, a few words on a yellowed piece of paper.

**i have not forgotten. and i have found home. still drinking root beer?**

She knew, right then and there. She snapped her head up. The bar was empty, but a dark, tall shape was flitting across the window. She dashed up, grabbed her coat, and jammed the note into her pocket. She dove outside. She called his name. But no one was there, just an empty street and falling shadows of red light.

She just smiled.

She walked through them, breaking them like they were butter.

And she headed for home.

OOO

A/N: Oh my god, it's finally over! YES! I mean, er, NO!! Sorry. I can move on, now. Although it's been fun. Maybe I'll do another DA/P fic sometime.


End file.
